


INKquisition

by CherieoftheDragons (SignCherie), SignCherie



Series: INKquisition [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-03-30 17:09:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 41,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3944866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SignCherie/pseuds/CherieoftheDragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SignCherie/pseuds/SignCherie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tattoo shop AU! Blackwall is an ex-con who has been looking for the perfect artist to do his griffon backpiece. Mirevas Lavellan of INKquisition Studio just happens to be that artist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Giant thanks to my beta, Aphreal.
> 
> I'm cherieofthedragons on tumblr if you want to come find me. XD
> 
> If you're looking for the smut, jump to chapters 14 and 22. Or if you want to avoid the smut, those are the chapters to skip. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for this chapter is [Hello I Love You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D4o46HKMdL0) by the Doors.

 

The blaring of his cell phone blasted Blackwall out of a pleasant sleep. He cursed loudly and creatively, fumbling on the nightstand until his fingers closed around the damned thing.

“What?” he growled into the receiver.

“That’s it? No hello, how are you, nice to hear from you? That’s some rot.”

Blackwall closed his eyes. “Sera.”

“Yeah, Sera, who else? Listen, got to tell you something.”

He glanced at the glowing display on the phone. 2:30 am. “If you’re waking me up at this time of night, someone had better be dead.”

“Late, is it? Didn’t realize. Doesn’t matter. Look, I’ve found your tattooist.”

“I didn’t know I’d lost one.”

“Oh, har har. Aren’t you the funny one. You still want that griffon-whatever, yeah? On your back?”

Blackwall pressed his forehead against his pillow. “Yes, Sera,” he said, his voice muffled. “I still want the griffon backpiece.”

“Well, I’ve found your tattooist. Real artist. You won’t believe the artwork comes from Lavellan’s needle.”

“Lavellan, is it?”

“S’right. At INKquisition, you heard of them?”

“No, Sera. I’ve only just moved here, remember?”

“Right. Well. Lavellan at INKquisition. You’re going to shit your pants when you see this ink.”

“A promising notion.”

“Yeah, yeah. Look, gotta go. Party’s just getting started. You could join us, you know? Come meet up? We’re going to TP the mayor’s house!”

In response, Blackwall hung up the phone and dropped it onto the bed. A minute later, he was fast asleep.

* * *

He would have forgotten the whole incident, most likely, had he not woken up to a text from Sera.

_Lavellan. INKquisition. Get it? Check it out. You won’t be sorry._

In the past five years, Blackwall hadn’t found an artist he could afford and whose work he loved enough to trust them with his vision for a griffon backpiece. But Sera wasn’t one to make recommendations lightly. INKquisition. A quick google search turned up a location only about a twenty-minute walk from the car shop.

It couldn’t hurt to stop by the studio after work and get a look at this Lavellan guy.

* * *

He should have been finished at the shop by five, had it not been for a last-minute customer. The lady was crying when the car was towed in, more upset by the accident than the toddler on her hip was. Her father’s funeral was that evening, and without her car, she wouldn’t be able to get there.

“I’m sorry,” Dennet told her. “There are four other customers here before you. Nothing I can do. Your car won’t be ready till tomorrow.”

The woman wiped tears from her cheeks. “Isn’t there any way you can help me? Please, I’m begging you.”

“It’s all right, Dennet,” Blackwall said. “I’ll stay and work on the lady’s car.”

Dennet grimaced, but before he could say a word, the lady was speaking. “Oh, thank you, sir! I’ll pay you double your regular charge, whatever you need.”

“Not at all, ma’am.” Blackwall gave her a nod. “I’m just happy to help, that’s all.”

Dennet followed Blackwall into the garage. “What was that, Warden? Don’t tell me that one got to you.”

“She needs help.”

“And so do all the people who got here before her.”

“You don’t need to pay me,” Blackwall said. “I’ll do this on my own time.”

“That’s even worse. You don’t need to be a doormat, Blackwall.”

“She’s a sad woman with nowhere to turn. It’s all right, Dennet. I want to help.”

Dennet threw up his hands and headed back to the desk to take the next customer.

So it was seven-thirty when Blackwall finally arrived in front of INKquisition Studio, the last few rays of sun glowing on the horizon. He took in the shop before him and was instantly impressed. Through the large windows, he could see that the place was tidy and well-lit. The logo painted on the glass caught his attention, a sword with a fiery eye in the center.

Interesting. Blackwall pushed open the door and stepped inside.

It wasn’t the fanciest studio he’d ever been in, but it was certainly clean and professional looking. Exposed brick gave it a certain amount of character. There was no flash on the walls to choose from. Instead, they were lined with framed pieces of art.

One image in particular drew his eye. It was a dragon, wings spread wide, jaws open as if screaming. It was fierce, deadly, and utterly realistic.

He knew what the signature would say before he even looked. Lavellan.

“What can I do for you?” said an accented voice.

Blackwall turned to see a pretty young woman standing at the front desk. Black hair tied up in intricate braids, copper skin, and a nice smile. Her ruffled tank top was a striking contrast to the tattoos on her arms.

“Do you have any books with your artists’ work I could look at?”

“Of course,” she said. She rummaged behind the counter and pulled out three albums. “I’ll give you time to look at them. Let me know if you need anything else.”

With that, she stepped away.

Blackwall reached immediately for the book with Lavellan’s name on it, flipping it open. What he saw floored him. Fantastical beasts of every type. Realistic portraits with incredible detail. Every image he looked at impressed him more than the last.

“Now, you look like a guy with a story,” said a voice.

Blackwall looked up. A short, blond man with a ruddy complexion and a lot of exposed chest hair was sitting at one of the stations, looking at him from over a sketchpad.

“Are you Lavellan?” Blackwall said.

The man laughed out loud, surprising him. “Well, that’s a question I never thought I’d get asked. Hey, Inkquisitor!” he called. “Got one for you up here.”

A woman at the back of the shop turned around.

Blackwall hadn’t even seen her there. She was sitting on a stool at what looked to be a light table. His first thought was that she was tiny, just a slip of a thing. Blackwall’s big hands could probably fit around her waist. Okay, that was exaggerating. Still, she was small. Unassuming. Easily overlooked.

Her eyes met his, and he changed his mind completely.

How had he thought that a woman with a face like hers could be unassuming? Her eyes were startling. With one look, they pierced right through him. He was sure she was looking right into his soul, discerning all his secrets with a glance. Her face, which had seemed plain at first sight, was now unearthly in its beauty. Her tawny skin was decorated by the loveliest tattoos -- gorgeous lines sloping up over her cheeks and onto her forehead, complimented by similar lines on her chin and neck. Strikingly black hair was pulled up in a tight bun, little wisps of hair escaping at the nape of her neck. Her full lips were utterly kissable.

She cocked her head, and Blackwall realized he was staring. With effort, he tore his eyes away, trying and probably failing to look casual as he examined the selection of piercings in the glass case up front.

The blond man chuckled.

The woman hopped down from her stool and began walking towards him. “For me, you say?”

“He was asking for you,” the man with the chest hair said.

Blackwall’s mouth was dry. He turned to face the woman who had taken his breath away. “You’re Lavellan, I presume.”

She nodded. “Mirevas.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Mirevas. Sorry. Mirevas Lavellan. It’s my name.”

“Right. Mirevas.” A beautiful name to match her beautiful face. After a beat, he realized it was his turn to introduce himself. “You can call me Blackwall.”

A small smile spread across her full lips. “Blackwall. What can I do for you?”

Her voice was soft and musical.

“I--” The tattoo. The griffon. He’d come about his backpiece. “I’m looking to get a tattoo.”

Thankfully, she said nothing about the obviousness of that statement. “What are you wanting to get?”

“A griffon. On my back. A backpiece. My friend Sera sent me here. She said to see Lavellan. And… that’s you.” Christ, he was turning into a stammering schoolboy.

“A griffon.” Her smile grew. “I love fantastical creatures. Griffons, dragons, phoenixes, you name it.”

“I’d guessed that from your book.”

She ducked her head. “Right. Of course. Well, Blackwall, what do you have in mind?”

He’d had the design planned out for years. It was easy to describe it. “A griffon rampant -- standing up on its back legs. Facing left, wings spread out over the right shoulder. Reminiscent of heraldic style, but realistic.”

A gleam came into her eye. She grabbed a pencil and paper and began sketching quickly. In less than a minute, she had the griffon roughly drawn out, just as he had pictured it.

“That’s it,” he said in wonder. “That’s my tattoo.”

Lavellan -- Mirevas -- grinned up at him. Christ, she wasn’t just skinny, she was short, too. Tiny little thing. He felt suddenly huge and clumsy. And old. She was probably half his age.

He looked at her gorgeous sketch again, and reality came crashing down. “How much is this going to cost?”

Mirevas hesitated, biting her lip. Then she named a figure far below what he expected from an artist of her caliber.

The man with the chest hair coughed.

“That can’t be right,” Blackwall said.

Mirevas shrugged. “You’re a friend of Sera’s. And I want to do this piece.”

“I can’t let you do that for me.”

She crossed her arms. “That’s my quote. Take it or leave it.”

He hesitated. He wanted that tattoo.

“If you’re sure…”

She smiled. Christ, she had a beautiful smile. He vowed to make up the cost of the discount with as big a tip as he could manage.

“When can you start?” he asked

The woman with the braids reappeared at that moment, pulling out an appointment book. “Let’s see here.” She flipped forward through the pages. Too many pages. Well, he’d waited this long for his tattoo. What was a few more months?

Blackwall looked at Mirevas and found he didn’t want to wait months before he saw her again.

“There’s an opening on August third--”

“Are you free on Friday?” Mirevas interrupted.

The woman with the braids looked up in surprise.

“I’ve had a cancellation on Friday,” Mirevas said. “Can you come then?”

This was too good to be true. “If the appointment is after five.” But he could probably beg Dennet for the time off earlier if he had to. He worked enough unpaid overtime that the man ought to let him leave early for one day.

“That’s perfect,” Mirevas said. “The opening is at six.”

With raised eyebrows, the woman with the appointment book turned back the pages and penciled something in. “Friday, May 22 it is,” she said.

Mirevas glanced at the clock. “I have five minutes before my next client arrives. Why don’t you come on back, and I’ll take a tracing of your back.”

“Yes,” said Blackwall, and followed her.

As he passed, he heard the man with the chest hair say, “Are you seeing this, Ruffles?”

“I am, indeed,” replied the woman with the braids.

Mirevas’s booth was only a few yards from the front counter. It wasn’t so much a booth as it was a spot at a table along the wall where her equipment was set up. She turned to him, and then hesitated. “Take your jacket off?” she asked.

“Oh. Yes.” Of course. He slipped his arms out of the sleeves of his leather jacket, knowing she was going to be looking at his body and feeling irrationally self-conscious. He still had a t-shirt on, after all. This was nothing. She was going to tattoo his back. No getting around it; she’d have to look at his hairy torso.

But Mirevas wasn’t looking at him now. “I’ll just get the paper and be right back,” she said.

She stepped away, and Blackwall looked around. Across the room, next to the blond man, a redheaded woman was busily tattooing a very large, muscular man. Larger even than Blackwall, and that was saying something. Next to Mirevas’s spot, a short, stocky young woman was preparing a station, chattering on to a pale, pierced, bald man about the possibilities of UV ink.

“Here we are.” Mirevas was back, holding up a large sheet of paper. “Just turn around and I’ll get the shape of your back here.”

Obediently, Blackwall turned. Mirevas laid the paper against his back.

It should not have been so exhilarating, having her touch him, even through his t-shirt and the paper pressed to his back. He could feel her fingers holding it in place, the light touch of her pencil, and it made the hairs on his arms stand up. If just this little contact was electrifying, Blackwall couldn’t imagine the trance she would put him in when her full attention was on him, even through the pain of the needle.

“There we are,” she said, pulling the paper away, and Blackwall turned back, suppressing his disappointment at the loss of her touch. She smiled again. “I’ll get a final sketch ready for you by Friday.”

Blackwall pulled his jacket back on, then faced her again. “Thank you.”

For a moment, they looked at each other. Blackwall was struck once more by her piercing eyes. The curve of her lips was utterly mesmerizing. Blackwall thought he could look at that face forever and never get tired of it.

Then he realized he was staring again.

“I’ll see you on Friday, then,” he said quickly. “At six.”

“Yes,” Mirevas said. “Friday.”

Before he could make a bigger fool of himself, Blackwall turned and hurried out the door.

  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter -- [I've Just Seen A Face](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SbKGsEK_T9g) by the Beatles

“So, Inkquisitor, what was that all about?”

Mirevas felt her cheeks getting warm. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Varric raised an eyebrow impishly. “Of course you don’t. You just volunteered to come in on your day off to start a tattoo for half your usual rate. I gotta say, Inkquisitor, I didn’t know big and burly was your type.”

Neither had Mirevas, for that matter. But there was something about the man who had just left. It wasn’t his looks, exactly. True, he was handsome in a rugged, masculine way. Strong muscles bulged under a t-shirt that didn’t hide a slight belly. Adorable. Sexy. But no, that wasn’t it. Plenty of men were attractive. This man, though -- there was something in his eyes that drew her, something in the way he looked at her. A certain kindness, maybe. A man as rough as him shouldn’t remind her of a knight from a fairy tale, but this man did.

Blackwall. She liked the name.

The look on his face when he asked for her price made it obvious that he couldn’t afford her. And for some reason, Mirevas didn’t want this client to walk away. So she’d quoted him low.

“Ooh, she’s speechless,” Leliana said. “It must be serious.”

Mirevas avoided both of their eyes. “He’s just a client.”

“Of course.” Varric grinned. “You said you’re doing him a favor because he’s friends with Sera.” He paused, then said, all too innocently, “Who is Sera again?”

Mirevas’s cheeks were burning now. She pointedly ignored him.

Varric snapped his fingers. “Oh, that’s right. She’s my old college buddy. The one I’ve never mentioned before.”

From his seat in Leliana’s chair, Iron Bull spoke up. “Give the boss a break. She’s got a right to get some action. Good for you, Boss.”

It was ironic that Bull was the only person who ever called her Boss, considering he didn’t work for her. Every other person in the shop right now did, and look how much respect that earned her.

Not that she would call Bull respectful, exactly.

“I can’t blame you,” Josie added. “There’s something sexy about the rough-and-ready type.”

“Look, there’s nothing --” Mirevas stopped. “Rough-and-ready?”

Leliana nodded in agreement. “The kind you expect to take you right there in the backseat of his car.”

“Rough-and-ready” was not how Mirevas would have described Blackwall. True, his appearance was rugged, but his manners were… deferential. Polite. 

“One thing’s for sure,” Varric said. “He’s already wrapped around our dear Inkquisitor’s finger.”

Mirevas looked up sharply. “What?”

Varric laughed. “Didn’t you see the way he looked at you?”

Mirevas felt unsteady. “He didn’t--”

“Oh, he did,” Josie said.

Bull nodded. “Like he was starving, and the boss was a big, juicy steak.”

“No.” Leliana dipped her needle into the ink. “Like he was blind, and suddenly the sun came out.”

The others murmured their agreement.

Could they be right? Could Blackwall really be interested in her? The thought made her chest feel warm.

“What you need is a plan of attack,” Josie said. “What are you going to wear on Friday?”

“What?” Mirevas shook off her thoughts and focused on Josie. “I don’t know. A t-shirt and jeans. Same as always.”

Josie pursed her lips. “Which t-shirt?”

“Wear that tank top,” Leliana said. “The black one that dips low in front.”

“It doesn’t dip that low!”

“Ooh, yes,” Josie said. “It shows off your tattoos.”

Just as Mirevas was wishing a hole would open up under her feet and swallow her, the door chimed, and her next client came in.

“All right, all of you.” Mirevas put as much authority into her voice as she could. “I’m not paying you for commentary on my love life.”

“You’re not paying me anything, Boss.” Iron Bull grinned at her, a teasing glint in his eye.

“And technically,” Varric said, “you’re not paying Leliana and I, either. We’re paying you to let us work out of here.”

Mirevas gave them all the scariest glare she could muster.

It worked. Varric put up his hands in surrender and turned quickly back to his drawing. Iron Bull was suddenly very interested in the art on the walls, and Leliana returned to tattooing, all appearance of being anything but absorbed in her work gone. Mirevas glanced at Josie, who hurried away to help Dagna clean on the other side of the room.

Much better. Mirevas turned her back on them all and greeted her client.

Still, as she began the shading on the blond man’s cat portrait, her mind wandered back to Blackwall, and a grin spread over her face. Her friends thought he was interested. Maybe… maybe she had a chance.

\----------

Home, for Blackwall, was a small studio apartment, barely large enough to fit his full-size bed and what passed for a tiny kitchen. He didn’t turn on the lights when he walked in. Instead, he threw himself down on the bed, staring up at the dark ceiling.

Mirevas Lavellan.

Why did he feel like his life was about to change?

Nothing was going to happen. He knew that. She was young and beautiful and entirely too good for him. He would see her a few times, she would create a work of art on his back, and then they would part ways forever. Or at least until he scrounged up the money to get another tattoo from her.

But her face filled his mind. All he could see was intense brown eyes, black hair, lovely full lips…

He felt lucky even to have laid eyes on her.

This was ridiculous. She was a complete stranger, and he was a creepy lech, mooning over a young girl he didn’t even know. He couldn’t let this get out of hand. He would keep it professional, polite. Whatever his feelings, she deserved that respect.

Still, for a moment, when they’d looked into each other’s eyes, he’d thought he’d seen…

No. Wishful thinking, nothing more. And even if there was the tiniest chance that she could have feelings for him, it didn’t matter. She didn’t know who he was. If she knew, she could never want him, and rightly so. She deserved much better than the likes of him.

No, he was happy just to have met her. And to have the privilege of being tattooed by an artist with talent beyond measure.

Blackwall lay there for a moment longer, then pulled out his phone and started typing.

_Thank you._

Sera’s reply came a moment later. _What for?_

Blackwall smiled as he punched in the letters. _Lavellan._


	3. Chapter 3

“Ask her out, you git.”

“No.”

“Go on. She gave you a discount. She likes you, she wants you to.”

“She gave me a discount because of you.”

“Hey, I’d love it if a sexy little thing was doing favors for me -- hehehehehehe, _favors_ \-- but I don’t even know the woman. Just Varric.”

“She did it as a favor for him, then. Helping him to help you.”

“You can be a real idiot, you know that? Ask. Her. Out.”

“No, thank you. I’d rather _not_ be rejected. And anyway --”

“Anyway, what?”

“Nothing. Just forget it, all right?”

“Blackwall. Stop beating yourself up over that shite already. It was a long time ago, yeah?”

“She’s just my tattooist. Let it go.”

A sigh. “You’re going to be stupid about this, aren’t you? You’re going to need some help.”

“No. Sera, no. No helping, do you understand me?”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”

“Sera!”

“Hehehehehehe. Favors.”

\----------

Mirevas was not going to dress up for her appointment today. She absolutely would not. She would wear -- whatever she happened to pull out of her closet. Yes. It didn’t matter what she wore.

She reached her hand into her closet and pulled out -- a bright orange, oversized t-shirt with the words “Another Quality Chick” along with the name of a local hatchery and a picture of a chicken hatching from an egg.

Yikes.

Okay, the second thing she pulled out of her closet, then. She reached back in.

It was the polka-dot dress her aunt had given her for Easter three years ago.

Mirevas gave up. She scrounged her closet for the low-cut black tank top.

\----------

When Blackwall stepped into the studio, he tried to be casual. He didn’t want to seem desperate by searching out Mirevas before the door had even closed behind him. But he couldn’t help the way his eyes were drawn to her any more than he could stop the sun from moving through the sky.

She was breathtaking.

Her black shirt revealed gorgeous, heavily inked, warm brown skin. A roaring dragon wrapped itself around her right arm, its claws digging into her flesh. Her left arm bore a magnificent tree, intricate branches spreading over her shoulder, like a fairy tree out of a storybook. The elegant lines on her face and neck continued down over her chest, leading the eye to full, round breasts. Her jeans were formfitting and utterly tantalizing.

Blackwall wanted to touch every inch of her.

Christ, he was staring again. He forced himself to tear his eyes away. They landed on the short, blond man he’d met before. Sera’s friend Varric, he knew now. Varric was standing behind the counter, looking up at Blackwall with one eyebrow raised.

“So, Hero.” Varric crossed his arms. “What’s your story?”

Blackwall frowned. “Hero?”

“Sera says you’re a real do-gooder.”

He bristled. “It sounds like you already know my story, then. You don’t need to ask me.”

Varric tilted his head. “I know a part of the story. But nobody wakes up one day and just decides they need to help people. No, there’s always a reason behind it. A story. And I’m betting yours is a doozy.”

Blackwall decided in that moment that he didn’t like Varric. “No story. Sorry.”

Varric’s lip quirked. “All right, Hero. If you say so.”

Thankfully, Mirevas approached at that moment. The smile she gave him lit up the room.

“Hi there,” she said.

Blackwall’s mouth was dry. “Hello.”

Varric shook his head. “I’ll leave you two kids alone,” he said before turning away towards his station.

“I’ve got your design all ready,” Mirevas said. “I think you’re going to like it. Come on back.”

He followed her to her station. The sketch was laying open on the table. Mirevas turned to him with a grin of anticipation.

Blackwall was speechless.

The griffon looked as if it might fly off the paper at any moment. The curved talons were ready to strike. The wings stretched back majestically. There even seemed to be a dangerous glint in the griffon’s eye.

“My lady,” Blackwall managed to say, “it’s perfect.” 

Mirevas beamed. “I knew you would like it.”

“He’d be a fool not to,” a voice said. Blackwall turned to see the redheaded tattooist standing behind him. “She’s been working on that almost non-stop since you came in”

Mirevas glared at the woman. “Yes, thank you, Leliana.”

The redhead -- Leliana, presumably -- ignored the implied dismissal. She raked a discerning gaze over Blackwall, from head to feet and back up again. “You must be Blackwall,”

“I -- yes.” What reason would this tattooist have to know his name?

“So tell me, Blackwall. Where are you from?”

Blackwall stiffened. He did not want to talk about his past. “Detroit.”

Leliana raised her eyebrows. “What brought you to Chicago?”

“A job offer.”

“It must have been a good job.”

“Decent.”

The redhead narrowed her eyes. “What do you do?”

“Leliana.” Mirevas’s voice was low.

“Yes, Inkquisitor?”

“Despite the name of the shop, we don’t actually need to give our clients the third degree.”

“Of course not.” The redhead’s voice was a little too innocent. “I just want to get to know your new friend.”

New friend? Had Mirevas… she couldn’t have been talking about him, could she?

“Yes, well.” Mirevas shot Leliana a glare that could crumble mountains. It actually frightened Blackwall, and he wasn’t even the target of it. “I’m sure my _client_ would like to actually get the tattoo he came here for, if you don’t mind.”

The emphasis she put on the word client was clear. This was a business relationship, nothing more. Well, of course. What was he thinking to even consider that she might have been talking about him to her friends?

“Of course.” The redhead turned a cold gaze to Blackwall. “A pleasure to meet you, Blackwall.”

Something in the tone of her voice said that it wasn’t a pleasure at all. Something hard and a little bit threatening. Blackwall fought the urge to step backwards.

Mirevas sighed as Leliana walked away. “I’m sorry about her.”

“Is she always so inquisitive?”

“She makes everything her business, if that’s what you mean. But she’s not usually quite so, um, forward about it. Should we get started, then?”

“Started?”

“I can transfer the image onto your back.” She hesitated. “If you approve it, of course.”

“I approve it,” Blackwall said quickly. “It’s magnificent. I never thought -- no one’s ever been able to capture what I wanted before. This -- this is it. It’s my tattoo.”

Mirevas grinned from ear to ear. “I knew it. I knew I got it right.”

She had a beautiful smile. It made Blackwall feel a little lightheaded to have it unleashed on him. “How did you know?’

Mirevas ducked her chin. “Oh. Just a hunch. Why don’t you take your shirt off for me?” She looked up suddenly. “Oh. Not for _me_. I mean, yes, for me, but -- the tattoo. So I can transfer it. Onto your back.”

Her cheeks were tinged pink. He must have been staring again, made her uncomfortable.

He would have to watch that.

\-------------------

Mirevas wanted to kill Varric and Leliana. She knew what they were doing, and it wasn’t funny. She didn’t need them checking out her crushes, deciding if they were good enough for her. She was an adult, damn it. Not only an adult. Their boss. The person they trusted with their livelihoods. Did they seriously think she couldn’t choose a boyfriend on her own?

Not that he was a boyfriend. Or would be a boyfriend. He was a client. 

An extremely sexy client. 

Ugh, she wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. She was making a fool of herself, and her coworkers certainly weren’t helping.

Blackwall pulled his t-shirt off over his head, revealing a strongly muscled torso and a great deal of chest hair. 

Mirevas looked quickly away, paying careful attention to her gloves as she tugged them on. 

She prepped his back and applied the transfer, trying to ignore the warmth of his skin she felt even through the latex gloves. Touching this man should not have been so exciting. He was just another client.

Mirevas finished the transfer and peeled off the paper. Blackwall turned to look at her, a little smile on his lips, and her heart leapt into her throat. There was something dark and deep in his eyes, something strong and passionate. What was it Leliana had said about the way Blackwall looked at her? 

_Like he was blind, and suddenly the sun came out._

Mirevas cleared her throat, trying to shake away the haze that had settled over her brain. “Shall we take a look in the mirror?”

“Yes,” Blackwall said without taking his eyes from hers.

\----------

Using a hand mirror, Blackwall looked at his reflection in the full-length mirror behind him. What he saw floored him.The design looked even better on his back than it had on paper. It flowed with the lines of his body as if it had been made to fit there. Which, of course, it had.

“I love it.” He couldn’t stop looking at it.

Mirevas fidgeted with her glove. “You’re okay with the placement?”

“It’s perfect.”

“Excellent.” Mirevas beamed at him, and Blackwall thought he might do anything to earn that look again.

\-----------

Blackwall was watching Mirevas open a fresh, sterile needle, when the copper-skinned woman he’d met before approached. 

“Is there anything you need, Inkquisitor?”

“No. I’m fine, Josie.” Was that a note of annoyance in Mirevas’s voice? “Thank you.”

The woman named Josie locked her eyes on his. “You must be Blackwall.” She held out her hand.

She knew of him, too? Mirevas _must_ have mentioned him. His heart started doing flip-flops. 

A second later, he realized what must have happened. Mirevas wasn’t talking about him. Sera was. 

Great.

Blackwall took Josie’s hand. “It seems everyone here has heard of me.”

Josie glanced up at Mirevas, then back at him. “Er, yes. Well --”

“Whatever Sera said about me, it’s not true.”

“Oh, no!” Josie looked flustered. She was really an attractive woman. Not as attractive as Mirevas, but quite beautiful in a different way. “I’m sure -- you seem like a very nice man.”

“I don’t know if ‘nice’ is the word. But anything Sera said is probably an exaggeration.” He hesitated, considering. “Probably.” 

Josie laughed. “Are you excited about your tattoo?”

“Very much.”

“So is Mirevas. She’s been working on that design all week. I must say, it’s beautiful. Our Inkquisitor is a very skilled artist.”

Mirevas cut in, a pained expression on her face. “Yes, thank you, Josie.”

“She loves griffons. You two must have that in common.”

Blackwall had no idea where this was going, but he liked the idea of sharing something with Mirevas. “That’s very nice.”

“Isn’t it? I bet you two have a lot in common. Do you--”

“Josie.” Mirevas’s voice was strained. “There’s a customer at the counter.”

Josie glanced over her shoulder. “It’s Solas’s six-thirty. I’ve already let Solas know.”

“Great. Why don’t you go make sure he’s coming out?”

The woman looked disappointed, but she gave a small smile. “Very well. Good day, Blackwall. It was very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Blackwall returned.

As Josie walked away, Mirevas sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Blackwall frowned. “For what?”

“Oh -- nothing. Nothing.”

They fell into silence again. Blackwall tried desperately to think of something to say. Something that wouldn’t make him look like a fool.

He thought of something that he’d been wondering about before. “‘Inkquisitor’, is it?”

Mirevas’s cheeks turned pink. “It’s a nickname. Varric started it, and it stuck.”

“Because of the shop name?”

“Yeah. I own ‘INKquisition’, so that makes me the Inkquisitor, or so they’ve all decided.”

“You own the shop?” Blackwall hadn’t known. She looked so young.

“I do.”

“Might I ask your age?” Blackwall hoped she wouldn’t find him rude, but he couldn’t quench his curiosity.

Her blush deepened. “I’m twenty-one.”

Good god. She was barely old enough to drink, and she owned this whole shop. How had the woman become so accomplished at such a young age? Blackwall found his admiration for her growing even more.

Mirevas coughed. “Anyway. When I started the shop, Varric gave me the nickname. I’ve been the Inkquisitor ever since.”

Blackwall spoke without thinking. “But your name is so beautiful. Why would anyone not want to use it?”

Her mouth fell open. Then she smiled, ducking her chin and looking away. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Your name -- it’s very nice, too.” She looked up, eyes suddenly wide. “Not that I was thinking about your name. I mean, I just noticed -- it’s unusual. Like my name. We have that in common. Another thing in common. We both like griffons, and we both have unusual names. And your name is nice.” She stopped talking, turning her attention entirely to the tattoo machine.

_Oh my god._

Blackwall’s heart started pounding as the realization hit him. Sera was right. 

Mirevas did like him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone for reading and commenting so far. It's so exciting to hear what you have to say! But most of all, I want to share something with you. Chenria drew me beautiful artwork of Mirevas in this AU, and it's so amazing that everyone has to see it. So please, [go look](http://chenria.tumblr.com/post/119960498871/i-know-i-should-have-been-working-on-a)!

Halfway through Blackwall’s outline, Mirevas was actually starting to relax. No one else had come up to embarrass her, she was having a pleasant conversation with this man she couldn’t stop thinking about, and she wasn’t even making a fool of herself.

“The Hobbit! It changed my life when I read it. I had to have been, what, seven, eight?” Mirevas grinned as she traced a curve on the griffon’s wing. “But I’d never seen a world like that before. It opened up all kinds of possibilities in my imagination. Do you know what I mean?”

“Absolutely. It’s a glimpse into another universe. A world where even the most ordinary of us can be heroes. That’s what Bilbo represents to me. It’s doesn’t matter that he’s a simple man who’s never left his village. He has bravery in his heart. He’s a hero because of who he is and what he does, not any lineage or training.”

“Yes,” Mirevas agreed. “That’s it, exactly. I think the live action movies miss the point. They glorify Thorin, and Bilbo’s successes seem like accidents. The films lose sight of the essence of the story -- that even though the dwarves think he’s nothing special, Bilbo is the one who saves all of them, time and time again.”

Blackwall was silent for a moment. “I must say, my lady, you’re unlike any woman I have ever met.”

Mirevas’s heart stuttered. She paused tattooing, dipping her needle back into the ink as she got her unruly emotions under control.

“How did you come to be the proprietor of a tattoo studio at such a young age, if I may ask?”

“You can ask. I have no secrets. I was homeschooled by my father. Started college art classes when I was fourteen. Became an apprentice in a tattoo parlor in South Dakota at 17. Worked out there until about six months ago, then opened up this place.”

“That’s quite incredible.”

“Is it?”

“You don’t think so?”

“Ask me again in a few years, when I know the whole thing hasn’t fallen down around my ears.”

Blackwall chuckled. “It won’t happen. You can move mountains, I’m sure of it.”

“You barely know me,” Mirevas pointed out.

He paused. “I suppose that’s true. But I don’t think I’m wrong.”

Mirevas couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face. Across the room, Varric looked up from his client and caught sight of her smiling like a fool. He raised an eyebrow and gave her a thumbs-up.

She looked away quickly, wiping ink from Blackwall’s back. “How are you doing? Okay?”

“So far, so good,” Blackwall said.

“Do you need a break?”

“A short one might be good. To stretch my legs, just for a minute.”

“No problem,” Mirevas said, setting her tattoo machine aside.

With a groan, Blackwall pushed himself up from the chair and stood, wincing. Then he turned and met her eyes.

Neither of them spoke, but there were words in their gaze. Blackwall’s steely grey eyes were dark, intense. Mirevas felt her breathing speed up. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his, and she didn’t want to.

“Inkquisitor!” exclaimed an excited voice.

_No._ The moment was broken. Blackwall looked away, and Mirevas closed her eyes.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” Dagna continued. “I really wanted to meet -- oh, hello! You must be Blackwall.”

Mirevas squeezed her eyes shut tighter.

“I’m Dagna. I’m an apprentice here. I’m so lucky that the Inkquisitor accepted me. I’m learning so much!”

“Oh?” Blackwall said.

“This shop is so forward thinking! Like the Inkquisitor. Her style is so modern. All that realism! Not at all easy to achieve in the tattoo medium, but she’s a natural at it! I want to learn everything she knows!”

“I can understand why you would.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with a more traditional style. Varric’s got that classic tattoo look in his work, but the way he implements it! Every piece he designs tells a story. I got this one from him!”

Mirevas opened her eyes to see Dagna showing off the full sleeve on her right arm. “It’s the story of a dwarf who goes to a wizard tower to learn about magic, do you see? Varric invented it for me! He says I’m as curious as that dwarf, and I’ll be just as successful. The man’s a genius when it comes to stories.

“And then there’s this one.” Dagna lifted the leg of her jeans to show off the raven on her ankle. “Leliana did it. Subtle and mysterious, that’s her. It’s so exciting to get work done by all the artists in this shop. I can’t wait for the Inkquisitor to do my other arm! She’s still designing something just for me. Oh! Can I see your back? I bet it’s fantastic!”

Amusement twinkling in his eyes, Blackwall turned obligingly, bringing him back to face Mirevas again. Their eyes met, and Blackwall’s lip quirked up in a small smile that made Mirevas’s breath catch.

Dagna sighed. “Oh, it’s wonderful. I can’t wait to get mine. Are you just as excited as can be?”

Blackwall’s voice was low. “I am.”

“I’d better go now. I’m working with Leliana today. I’ve got oranges to tattoo. That’s how we train, you know. Got to practice on oranges before we can start on skin! Did you know?”

Blackwall took a moment to answer, still staring at Mirevas. “I didn’t.”

“Well. Enjoy your tattoo! Nice to meet you!”

And Dagna flounced off.

Mirevas’s mouth was dry. She licked her lips, and Blackwall’s gaze dropped to her mouth, his eyes darkening.

If there was ever a moment to make a move… Mirevas took one small step closer, clearing her throat. “Blackwall, I--”

Blackwall blinked suddenly and stepped back. “Forgive me, my lady, I -- perhaps we should resume the tattoo?”

Mirevas’s heart sank, but she rallied quickly. “Yes, of course. If you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.”

\----------

The outline was nearly completed before Solas made his appearance. Mirevas wished she could be surprised, but no. Everyone else had come to torment her. Why not Solas, too? He didn’t say a word, just sat down in the chair next to Mirevas and watched them.

Mirevas sighed, resigned to her fate. “Hello, Solas. This is Blackwall.”

Solas was silent, looking at Blackwall.

“Was there something you needed?” Mirevas pressed.

“I just thought I’d come see how it’s going over here,” Solas said.

“Solas is our piercer,” Mirevas said. “And I’m sure he has a client to get to.”

“I’m on my break.” Solas looked at Blackwall. “Why a griffon?”

Mirevas wished she could see Blackwall’s face. “They’re majestic,” he said. “Beautiful. In heraldry, they represent bravery and valor. Noble sentiments, those.”

“Perhaps,” Solas said. “Of course, heraldic symbolism is not as clear-cut as people today would have it. Quite often, the meaning we associate with a particular symbol is not at all what the original intention was.”

“And the intention behind this particular griffon is bravery and valor,” Mirevas said, narrowing her eyes at Solas, “because Blackwall chose it, and therefore his intention is the original one.”

“Of course. You are right, as usual.” Solas’s expression did not soften as he examined Blackwall. “Valor and bravery are important values to you?”

Enough was enough. Mirevas’s coworkers were going to chase Blackwall straight out the door, and she wouldn’t blame him a bit. “All right, Solas,” she said before Blackwall could answer. “It’s been very nice talking to you. I’m sure you have other things you need to do.”

Solas looked at her, then nodded once. “Yes.” He rose, nodding to Blackwall as well. “A pleasure.”

Mirevas slumped as she wiped Blackwall’s back again. What more could they possibly inflict on her?

\----------

Despite the ever-increasing pain, Blackwall was disappointed when Mirevas put away her tattoo machine, declaring the outline finished. He could have stayed in her presence forever.

“Are you ready to see it?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Yes, I can’t wait.”

It was glorious. Seeing the crisp lines on his skin made the reality of the whole thing hit home. Mirevas’s art was on his body. He would carry this majestic creature with him everywhere.

He couldn’t wait to start showing it off. If it looked this good as just an outline, he couldn’t imagine how amazing it would be shaded.

“Wow,” was all he could manage to say.

\----------

Blackwall had paid his bill, tipped Mirevas, and was listening intently to the last of her care instructions when a gruff voice behind him said, “Blackwall, right?”

He frowned. Who on earth could that be?

Mirevas’s head fell forward.

Blackwall turned to see who was greeting him, and was surprised to find a very large man who looked vaguely familiar. Olive skin, black stubble, and a patch over his left eye. Ah, yes. Blackwall knew where he’d seen this man before. He’d been getting tattooed the last time Blackwall was in the studio. He stood in front of him, arms crossed, a wide grin on his face that managed to be both friendly and intimidating. Blackwall looked up at the man uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to being shorter than people.

“Does _everyone_ here know who I am?” Blackwall wondered.

MIrevas made a small noise.

“Probably,” the giant said cheerfully. “They call me the Iron Bull. So, Blackwall. When are you going to see the Inkquisitor again?”

“I -- I don’t know. I haven’t made a new appointment yet.” Blackwall looked at Mirevas, his stomach sinking to his feet. In a few minutes, he’d be walking out the door and out of her life for months.

The Iron Bull raised both eyebrows. “Well, that’s no good. You’ll have to come out to the concert Thursday.”

“Concert?” Mirevas said.

“Of course.” The Iron Bull looked at Blackwall. “My band, the Chargers, is playing at the Metro Thursday night. Everyone’s coming. Right, Varric?”

Varric looked up from across the room. “Huh?”

“The Metro. On Thursday.” He jerked his head towards Blackwall and Mirevas significantly. “The shop’s closed Thursdays. That’s why everyone’s coming to my concert. _Right?_ ”

“Oh,” said Varric. “Oh, yeah. The whole gang. Had it planned for weeks”

Mirevas narrowed her eyes. “I haven’t heard a thing about it.”

“You must not have been paying attention, Boss. Anyway, I’m putting you both on the list. You have to come. I won’t take no for an answer.”

Mirevas looked at Blackwall and bit her lip. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, I’ll come.”

“Eeeeexcellent,” the Iron Bull said. “And you, Blackwall?”

Blackwall looked at Mirevas. She was looking up at him, a question in her beautiful brown eyes.

He could see her again. Next week. He didn’t have to wait months before he looked at that lovely face again. There would be music, and drinking, and dancing. Oh, god. Dancing. He could dance with her. He could touch that warm skin, hold her tiny body in his arms…

_She doesn’t know who you are._

The thought snapped him out of his reverie, and he tore his eyes from Mirevas’s. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I--I’m busy on Thursday.”

The look on Mirevas’s face made his heart crack, but she recovered quickly. “Of course. Well, remember what I said about your tattoo care. Check the sheets I gave you, and call immediately if there are any problems.”

Blackwall couldn’t look at her. “Of course. I’m sorry, I -- I have to go. I’m sorry. Thank you for everything.”

He turned and left quickly before he could change his mind.

As soon as Blackwall stepped onto the concrete, he regretted it. He wanted to go back and tell Mirevas yes, he’d go to the concert. He could tell her that her mere presence was a light in his dark life, a balm to his broken soul. Hell, why wait until Thursday? He could ask to see her tomorrow. Lord knew he wanted to. More than anything else he could think of.

Christ, he had it bad. He couldn’t remember ever being this infatuated with a woman, especially after such a short time.

But he couldn’t go back in there. He might not know her well, but he knew that she was too good for the likes of him. That she deserved a noble man and not a base pretender.

His feet hesitated before taking him swiftly down the sidewalk and away from Mirevas.

\----------

Through the glass windows, Mirevas watched Blackwall walk away, and she found herself blinking back tears. Stupid. He was just a client. She _knew_ that. She’d been telling everyone that since he’d first walked into her studio.

Josephine put a hand on Mirevas’s shoulder in what was obviously an attempt to be comforting. “Maybe he really does have plans.”

Mirevas thought of the tightness in his shoulders, the strain in his voice as he’d turned the invitation down, and knew he didn’t have plans. “It doesn’t matter,” she said and repeated the words she’d been saying all week. “He’s just a client.”

The sympathetic look on everyone’s faces told her no one believed it.

“Maybe he’ll change his mind,” Iron Bull offered.

“Oh, he’ll change his mind,” Varric said. “You put him on the list, Bull. That man is head over heels for our Inkquisitor. I’d stake Bianca on it. Well, no, I wouldn’t stake Bianca on anything. But I’d stake my life on it.”

Mirevas couldn’t help a small smile at Varric’s priorities. Of course his beloved tattoo machine came before his own life. “It’s okay, guys. Really. I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

“Of course you can,” Varric said. “But this time, you won’t have to. Sometimes all a man needs is a little push.”

“No.” Mirevas stiffened with alarm. “No pushing. The man’s not interested. Let it go.”

“Sure, Inkquisitor. Whatever you say.”

“Varric!”

“Just keep him on that list, Bull. He’ll be there. Oh, and I’ve got one more name for you to add.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some irresponsible drinking in this chapter.
> 
> This is [the Metro](http://metrochicago.com/rental/), for anyone who is curious.

Blackwall was miserable.

It was Thursday night. He was sitting at home, alone, seriously thinking about getting drunk in his underwear.

He could have been out with Mirevas right now -- if he’d only said yes.

No. He’d made the right decision. He’d accepted long ago that romance would no longer be a part of his life. And if there was ever a woman he couldn’t get involved with, it was Mirevas Lavellan. She was so strong, so accomplished, so full of potential. He was weak, worthless. As hard as he tried to give back to the world, he always knew he was taking from it more than he deserved.

Which was why he needed to let Mirevas go. She didn’t belong with a criminal like him. She should have someone who was like her, someone who was going places. Blackwall could only hold her back. 

None of that mattered, anyway. He didn’t have a chance with her. However she might feel about him now, she’d never so much as look at him again after she learned what he’d done.

Christ. Despite all the very good reasons why staying away was the right thing to do, Blackwall wanted to be at that club. He wanted to look at Mirevas’s face again, have that smile wash over him. He just wanted to be near her.

The twelve-pack of beer in his fridge was looking better by the moment.

A sharp knock at the door jolted him out of his thoughts. Who…?

Blackwall opened the door to find Sera standing on his welcome mat, bouncing on her toes.

“What are you doing?” she said, frowning at him. “You can’t wear that.”

Blackwall looked down at his grease-stained jeans and white undershirt, then back at her. “I can’t?”

“To the Metro? Honestly, Blackwall, how daft are you?”

The Metro! “How do you know about that?”

“Because Varric invited me. Duh. Come on, get ready. Can’t keep your ‘Inkquisitor’ waiting.”

“No. No, Sera, I’m not going.”

“Of course you are. My invitation is only good so long as I bring you. That means you’re coming. I’m not about to miss seeing the Chargers just because you’re too busy beating yourself up to recognize a good thing when she comes at you with a tattoo machine. You’re coming. End of discussion.”

“Sera --”

“Thom Rainier, I’m going to close this door, and so help me, if you don’t get dressed and come out here in the next five minutes, I’m going to tell Lavellan that you had your back waxed at the salon before your tattoo appointment.”

It didn’t take him five minutes. Blackwall was ready in two.

\----------

The concert was loud, but fairly low-key. That was what Blackwall noticed when he first walked in. The bar was at the back of the venue, and Sera stopped there immediately.

“What are you drinking?” she called to him.

“Nothing. I work tomorrow.”

Sera frowned and turned back to the bartender. A moment later she was pushing a drink into Blackwall’s hand.

“What’s this?” he asked in annoyance.

“Never mind,” Sera said. “Let’s find Varric and your little girlfriend, yeah?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Blackwall protested, but Sera had grabbed him by the wrist to drag him forward, and Blackwall didn’t think she heard him over the music.

\----------

Despite the party going on around her, despite being surrounded by people, Mirevas was depressed, and her friends' efforts to cheer her up were doing nothing to help. Sure, her friends were with her, but after Blackwall’s rejection, the whole evening was just a reminder of who was _not_ there. Mirevas had resigned herself to getting as drunk as possible when Varric put a hand on her shoulder and leaned in.

“Inkquisitor!” he shouted over the music. “Look behind you!”

Mirevas frowned at him, but she turned. At first she didn’t see anything, and she was about to berate Varric for wasting her time with silly jokes, when she caught sight a head sticking out above the crowd. Dark hair and a full beard. Blackwall.

Her chest was suddenly filled with helium.

She looked back at Varric, who was grinning knowingly at her. “I told you he’d be here!”

A blond woman with a pink complexion pushed her way to their table, dragging Blackwall by the wrist. “Shite, Varric!” she shouted. “Have to be so bloody short, do you? I almost couldn’t find you!”

Varric answered her, but Mirevas was too distracted to pick out his words over the noise around them. She was looking at Blackwall, and he was looking at her. And suddenly nothing else seemed to matter.

\----------

When Blackwall saw Mirevas, his heart stopped. Her penetrating eyes met his, her lips parted, and he forgot all the reasons he had wanted to stay away from her. Surely there was no greater pleasure than to be in this woman’s company, no greater honor than her regard.

Then she smiled at him, and he could swear the whole room lit up.

She said something, but Blackwall couldn’t hear it. “What?”

Mirevas leaned closer to him, and Blackwall bent his head. Oh, he would have to be close to her to communicate at all. That was wonderful. No, it was terrible.

“You came,” Mirevas said.

“Yes. Yes, I --” What could he say? That his friend dragged him here on pain of humiliation? “I’m glad to see you, my lady.”

The smile she gave him made him a little dizzy. “Do you need a drink?” she asked. “Oh, no, I see you have one.”

Blackwall had forgotten the drink in his hand. “Oh. Yes. Sera gave it to me. I have no idea what it is.”

Mirevas laughed. She had a beautiful laugh.

Nervously, Blackwall took a sip -- and made a face. Long Island Iced Tea. It figured.

Next to Mirevas, Varric slid from his stool. “Why don’t you sit here, Hero?” he called to them. “Sera and I are going to dance.”

And with that the two of them strode away.

Blackwall hesitated before taking the stool. The brunette and redhead from INKquisition -- Josie and Leliana, that was it -- sat across the way, locked in conversation, seemingly unaware of Blackwall’s presence. Next to them, the bald piercer glowered at Blackwall before turning back to the spunky apprentice, and with that, reality came crashing back. He deserved that glower. He shouldn’t be here. He wasn’t good enough for this woman.

Mirevas put her hand on his knee and leaned in again to say, “I’m really glad you came tonight.”

How could a man resist that? Surely, surely, one night in her presence wasn’t too much to steal for himself. Surely there was no harm in that.

He didn’t quite believe it, but he pretended that he did.

\---------

Leaning in so close to Mirevas in order to talk was a heady feeling. He couldn’t stop thinking about how near she was to him, her face only inches away. They were discussing the Chargers’ music and the advantages of alternative rock, and Blackwall was pleased to discover they had very similar views when it came to music, both preferring classic metal but able to enjoy all genres when done well. Really, was there anything about this woman that wasn’t perfect?

He was lost in Mirevas when Sera jostled him, drawing his attention away just in time to see her and Varric plunk shot glasses down on the table. Sera pushed one towards Blackwall with a grin.

He was about to refuse -- the drink Sera gave him before had already gone to his head too much -- but then Mirevas held up a glass toward him with a small, hopeful smile, and he found himself reaching for a glass to clink against hers. The look on her face when she knocked back her shot was the most adorable thing he’d ever seen, and he quickly swallowed the contents of his own glass so she wouldn’t see his amusement. Rum. Blech. When Blackwall drank, it was usually beer.

“Hero!” Varric shouted. “Aren’t you going to ask our Inkquisitor to dance?”

Blackwall froze. He couldn’t dance with her. She would get the wrong idea. No, she would get the right idea, and that was very dangerous.

Sera leaned in to say in Blackwall’s ear, “You have to dance with her now. She’ll be humiliated if you don’t.”

Sure enough, Mirevas was looking away, her face full of doubt and disappointment. No, he couldn’t have that.

Blackwall downed the last of his drink and held out a hand. “I’m game if you are.”

The way her face lit up made everything worth it.

Blackwall led her out through the throng of dancers, turned to her, and realized he had one very big problem.

He didn’t know how to dance.

No, actually, that wasn’t true. He knew how to waltz. But somehow, he didn’t think that was going to work here and now.

Mirevas was watching him, probably wondering why he was standing there like an idiot. Then she leaned in, put her lips to his ear, and said, “I can’t dance, either.”

Blackwall laughed.

With a shrug, Mirevas laughed as well and began shaking her arms around, stepping back and forth, looking silly but happy. Chuckling, Blackwall followed her lead, trying to remember as many dance moves as he could. They were all ridiculous. He did the swim, pretended to be John Travolta, headbobbed, and did the twist until Mirevas was laughing so hard she couldn’t move. When he attempted something resembling a moonwalk, she doubled over, putting a hand up in the air.

“Stop!” she cried. “Stop!”

Blackwall obliged her, laughing too hard to answer. Christ, that drink had been strong. He probably shouldn’t have done that shot.

He was about to suggest they return to their table when the song changed. A ballad. In ¾ time.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Iron Bull was doing it on purpose.

It didn’t matter. Blackwall couldn’t let this opportunity pass. He held out his hand.

Mirevas raised her eyebrows and placed her hand in his.

She didn’t know how to waltz, but she was good at following his moves and picked up the simple steps quickly. Blackwall resisted the temptation to draw her in closer. No, he would keep a respectful distance between the two of them. No need to pull her into his arms, to dip his head towards hers, to find out what her lips tasted like…

Respectful distance, right. He could do this.

Unfortunately, Mirevas didn’t seem to see a need for distance. She moved nearer to him, tilting her chin up.

Christ almighty, this was hard. He moved their hands to rest against his chest, his hand on her waist drawing her in. Her brown eyes fluttered closed.

“Mirevas.” Her name was just a breath escaping from his lips. He was sure she couldn’t hear him over the music.

He couldn’t kiss her. He couldn’t.

He moved the hand on her waist to cup the back of her head.

_She’ll find out who you are, Rainier. She’ll find out, and she’ll hate you for it._

Oh, god.

Instead of leaning down, he pulled her head to his chest, resting his chin against the top of her hair. She melted into his embrace with a sigh.

Christ. What was he going to do?

\----------

When they returned to their table, Leliana immediately pushed a drink into both of their hands. “Vodka cranberry, yes, Inkquisitor? And Blackwall, Sera said you’d want a Long Island Iced Tea.”

Blackwall was going to kill Sera.

\----------

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Fortunately, no one else tried to give Blackwall hard liquor, but the INKquisition crew did keep him well supplied in beer for the rest of the night, and he was well and truly drunk. Mirevas was always there, looking like some kind of angel, and he didn’t have the control to stop himself from telling her how amazing she was. Repeatedly.

For her part, Mirevas looked dazed and utterly happy, and it went straight to Blackwall’s heart.

He was surprised when that piercer, Solas, put a drink down in front of him. Solas was the one person who seemed to be avoiding him.

“It’s water.” Solas’s face was inscrutable. “I think you probably need it.”

Oh, he did. “Thank you,” he said.

Solas gave a nod and turned away.

Blackwall sipped the water. His stomach had started to turn. Hopefully he could hydrate himself before --

“Excuse me.” Blackwall lurched in the direction of the restrooms, but he didn’t make it. Before he knew it, he was puking all over the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already linked to Chenria's gorgeous illustration of [Mirevas](http://chenria.tumblr.com/post/119960498871/i-know-i-should-have-been-working-on-a). I keep forgetting to also share my imagining of INKquisition [Blackwall](http://signcherie.deviantart.com/art/Modern-AU-Blackwall-533906104), too. So here that is.

Blackwall fell to his knees, retching, the contents of his stomach spilling everywhere. Around him, people were stepping away in disgust. Oh, god.

He felt a hand on his back and cringed. _Please, let it not be Mirevas._ He couldn’t deal with that humiliation.

“I got you, big guy,” Sera said.

She helped him to his feet, and with her arm around his waist, she supported him as they staggered toward the restrooms.

Without hesitation, Sera pushed open the door to the mens’ room and helped Blackwall in. The one man already in the room goggled at her, and she gave him a glare that could melt steel. “I’m helping my friend. You got a problem?”

He put up his hands and left the room as quickly as he could.

Blackwall put his hands on the sink counter and hung his head. He was already feeling more sober than he had been. Still drunk, though.

“I’m sorry,” Sera said.

Blackwall blinked. “For what?”

“For the Long Island Iced Teas. And for making sure everyone was buying you drinks all night.”

He chuckled mirthlessly. Of course she had.

“I just wanted you to loosen up a bit, yeah? Let yourself have some fun.”

“It’s all right, Sera. You didn’t force me to drink them. I did this to myself.”

Sera nodded and patted his shoulder awkwardly. “Maybe splash some water on your face.”

Blackwall did, and the cold water helped to bring him down a bit. He cupped some water in his hands and rinsed his mouth. “Thanks, Sera.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Someone’s got to look out for you, right? Lord knows you won’t do it yourself.”

“Well. All the same.”

Sera fiddled with her bracelet. “So that’s your Inkquisitor, yeah? I hadn’t met her. Seen her artwork, but she wasn’t in the shop at the time. She’s cute. A bit plain Jane, maybe.”

“Plain Jane?!” In his drunken haze, Blackwall was sure he had never heard anything so offensive. “She’s not plain. She’s a goddess. An angel.”

Sera laughed. “Christ, you’ve got it bad. She has, too. Anyone can see it.”

Blackwall put his head on the cold counter.

“Not going to break her heart, are you?”

Blackwall sighed. “I’m nobody. She -- she’ll get over it.”

Sera snorted. “Yeah. And pigs fly.”

\----------

The look of worry on Mirevas’s face when they returned to the table made Blackwall’s cheeks burn. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“He’ll live,” Sera said, slapping him on the back. “Old man can’t hold his liquor. Just needs to go home and sleep it off.”

Blackwall looked at Mirevas, taking in everything about her -- wisps of black hair escaping her bun, tattoos embracing the lines of her body, piercing eyes, exquisite curves. He wouldn’t see her again for months.

Mirevas bit her bottom lip. “Do you need a ride?”

Sera’s face lit up. “Are you good to drive?”

“I switched to plain cranberry juice hours ago.”

Blackwall’s mouth fell open. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked stupidly.

Mirevas furrowed her brow. “I thought you knew.”

No, he hadn’t known. She’d been matching him drink for drink, and he’d assumed she was getting sloshed like he was. He felt even more like a drunk asshole than he had before.

“Brilliant!” Sera cut in. “Then I can catch up with Varric more, yeah? You’ll look after the big lug?”

Mirevas smiled, looking at Blackwall. “Of course I will.”

Varric patted Mirevas on the shoulder. “Excellent! It’s all taken care of, then.”

Great. It was bad enough Mirevas had seen him in this state. Now Sera had asked her to take care of him like he was a child. Blackwall didn’t think he could feel any more ashamed.

\----------

Mirevas was starting to wonder if she’d misread the whole night. Blackwall sat next to her in the passenger seat, looking out the window and not saying a word. In fact, the only time he’d spoken to her since they’d left the club was to give directions to his home.

“I’m sorry,” Mirevas said.

That got his attention. “What? Why?”

“For not realizing you were so drunk.”

Blackwall squinted and shook his head. “That’s not your fault. I’m a grown man. It’s my own responsibility to watch what I drink.”

“Still.” Mirevas was starting to feel silly, but she pressed on. “I watch out for my friends. I wasn’t watching out for you.”

There was a long pause. Then Blackwall broke the silence. “You are… magnificent. I had an amazing night, and it’s all because of you. Please don’t feel bad. It’s not your fault.”

Mirevas’s chest felt warm. It seemed a bit like a dream, that she’d met this handsome, thoughtful man who treated her so kindly. He made her feel like a lady, a queen. 

“How are you feeling now?” she asked.

“...better.”

Her voice, when she spoke again, came out quieter than she meant it to. “I’m glad.”

Blackwall sighed and pressed his forehead against the glass window. They lapsed back into silence.

\-----------

“This is it. Right here.”

Mirevas pulled over in front of the old brick apartment building and turned off the engine. Then she turned to look at Blackwall. He was watching her, eyes dark, a heaviness in his lids that told her he was still pretty drunk, however coherent he might be. He’d been very articulate all night, which was probably why she hadn’t realized how far gone he was until it was too late.

But right now, she couldn’t look away from those steely eyes.

Blackwall blinked, and the moment was broken. “Thank you for a lovely night,” he said. “And for the ride. I’ll be all right from here.

And before she could say a word, he had opened the door and was getting out.

Then he tripped and fell on his face.

Mirevas was out of the car in an instant, rushing to his side. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Blackwall pushed himself up. “My foot got caught on the curb, that’s all. Honestly, I’m fine.”

Mirevas helped him up. “I’ll feel better if you let me see you to your apartment.”

“Oh! No, I don’t--”

“Please?”

Blackwall looked at her, and his eyes grew hazy. “All right,” he said quietly.

\----------

Despite his insistence that he was fine, Blackwall was swaying on his feet and barely managed to get the front door key into the lock. As they started to climb the stairs, Mirevas surreptitiously slipped an arm around his waist, half afraid that he would push her away.

He didn’t.

When they reached his door, Mirevas murmured, “Let me,” and Blackwall sighed, handing her his keys.

His studio was tiny and spartan. Not a picture on the walls, not a single sign of the man who lived here. No, that was wrong. There was one small shelf on the wall holding a dozen or so books, and the plain Ikea dresser held a very small, very old television.

Mirevas helped Blackwall to the bed. When he was sitting, she crossed to his little kitchen. There she hesitated. “Where are your glasses?”

He blinked. “The cupboard above the sink.”

She opened it. There were no glasses, only a stack of plastic cups. She took one and filled it with cold water from the tap. After a moment’s hesitation, she opened the small freezer to look for ice, but there was none.

Oh, well. She brought the cup to Blackwall, and he took it, his fingers brushing hers. He drew in his breath at the contact.

“Why?” he said.

Mirevas didn’t understand. “Why what?”

His voice was so quiet she almost couldn’t hear him. “Why are you taking care of me?”

There were so many answers she could give, and none of them came easy. She would like to tell him how long it had been since she’d met someone she felt this way about. How no one had ever looked at her the way he did, and it made her stomach do flip-flops. How something in his eyes went straight to her heart and she couldn’t get him out of her head.

She gave him the answer he probably least expected. “My mother died of alcohol poisoning.”

His head shot up. “What?”

Mirevas shrugged.

He looked horrified. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t. It’s okay. I was three, I don’t even remember.”

Blackwall ran a hand over his face.

“Honestly, don’t feel bad. It’s just -- it’s something I’m aware of. So I take care of the people I…care about.”

His expression turned from horror to something like awe. “People you….”

Oh, god. She shouldn’t have said that. They barely knew each other. He was practically a stranger -- a friend of a friend that she’d only met three times. It was way too early to be confessing to caring.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Just -- drink the water, okay?”

He obliged her.

Mirevas realized with some chagrin that she was still standing in front of him, just watching him drink. She should probably sit, but there was no furniture save the bed. Was it forward to sit next to him? Hell, she hadn’t even been invited inside. 

Blackwall lowered the cup and licked his lips. His t-shirt clung to him, showing off every muscle and that little belly she’d noticed the first time she saw him. Grey eyes looked up at her from under black lashes.

Fuck, the man was sexy. 

“So your father raised you?”

Mirevas had to shake herself mentally to get her brain back on track. He was making conversation, that meant he didn’t want her to leave, right? So it was okay to sit?

Whether it was okay or not, standing here like an idiot was worse, so she sat next to him. “Not exactly, or at least not how you’re thinking. Bio-dad was never in the picture, so when my mom died, I was adopted. My dad, Jeremy -- the one who homeschooled me -- he was a friend of my mom’s. Made sure I kept my culture as much as possible, stayed in touch with the rest of my family.”

“Your culture?”

Mirevas nodded. “I’m Lakota. Lived on a reservation in South Dakota before I was adopted by my two dads.”

Blackwall’s lips parted. “Two dads?”

Instinctively, Mirevas stiffened, preparing for whatever stupid prejudice might be thrown at her.

He just nodded. “Good for them. What’s your other dad’s name?”

“Brian. He’s a doctor. A pediatrician, actually. Jeremy is an artist. Pretty successful one. Seemed every week I was taken to a new gallery opening.” Mirevas smiled, unable to hold back her pride.

“You love them.”

“I do, yeah.”

“They raised an amazing daughter.”

Mirevas felt her cheeks grow warm.

Blackwall opened his mouth to say something and then closed it. Quickly, he raised the cup to his lips and drank again.

“Do you need more water?”

“I can get it. You shouldn’t trouble yourself.”

“I want to.”

She reached for the cup. Slowly, Blackwall put it into her hand.

But he didn’t let go.

Mirevas looked up at him. His eyes were burning with passion. He leaned his head forward.

Her heart was pounding. The way Blackwall looked at her… she felt like the most beautiful person in the world. She wanted to kiss him more than anything.

“No,” he whispered.

And let go of the cup, tearing his eyes away.

Shaken and confused, Mirevas stood up, hurrying to the sink. She refilled the cup as slowly as she could, trying to give herself time to gather her wits, then turned back to Blackwall.

He had fallen asleep, still sitting, head lolling forward against his chest.

Mirevas couldn’t help but smile.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Signs of alcohol poisoning](http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/alcohol-poisoning/basics/symptoms/con-20029020)  
>  For the record, Blackwall is fine. These are the symptoms Mirevas is looking for to make sure he’s okay.

Blackwall was having a crazy dream. He was a noble knight who carried a cheese wheel as a shield. He was in a stable somewhere, carving a rocking-horse shaped like a griffon, and he turned to ask Dennet a question, only to find him caring for a zombie horse with a sword stuck through its head.

Then the scene wavered, as dreams sometimes do, and Mirevas’s face emerged.

“Blackwall?” she whispered. “Blackwall?”

Ah, this dream was so much better than the one before.

“Hello, my lady.”

The goddess before him smiled, and the sun shone down on him. “I’m just making sure you can wake up. I suspect you passed out as much from exhaustion as alcohol, but, well -- if I couldn’t wake you, I’d be calling for an ambulance right now.”

These weren’t the words of a dream goddess. Blackwall blinked, realizing he was tucked into bed in his apartment. Mirevas was kneeling on the floor, her face at eye level with his.

All the embarrassment of the night came rushing back. “Christ,” he said.

Mirevas chuckled quietly. “I don’t think you’re as drunk as I worried you were. But I didn’t want to leave you alone, either. If someone had been with my mom the night she -- well, I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

Blackwall pushed himself up onto his elbow. “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have had to --”

She shook her head. “Please don’t apologize. It’s fine, really. I’m happy to help.”

“But you’ve just been sitting here watching me sleep?”

“It’s only been about a half hour. I took care of some things, then read one of your books. Arthurian legends.”

“That one is my favorite,” Blackwall said.

Mirevas smiled. “Your friend Sera texted me. She said you wouldn’t mind my staying for a bit to make sure you were all right.” She bit her lip. “I hope--”

“Of course I don’t mind. You’re welcome here any time.” Too late, he realized the mistake in his words. He needed to push her away, not draw her closer. She couldn’t be a part of his life.

Mirevas’s shoulders relaxed, and she beamed. “Thank you.” One hand reached toward him, hesitating only briefly before brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. He shivered at the touch. “I’ve never met anyone like you,” she whispered.

Oh, god. He wanted her so badly. His willpower was running out.

“You can’t afford to think I’m special,” he croaked. “I’m nobody. Any you -- you’re --”

Mirevas pressed her lips to his forehead. “Shhh. You should sleep.”

Blackwall sank back down on the pillow. He did feel tired. “I’m fond of you, it’s true, but we…”

She stroked his hair. His eyelids were so heavy. 

“Sleep,” she said again.

His eyes fell closed. He couldn’t disobey her. Her fingers running through his hair were lulling him into a peaceful security. Mirevas was here. Everything was right.

He fell into a sound sleep.

\----------

The dream he had after that was much worse than the one before. 

Vincent Callier stood before him, clutching his stomach, blood pouring out over his hands. His face was bone white. “Your fault,” the man hissed. “It’s your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” Thom cried. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t know--I didn’t know--”

 _“Your fault!”_ Callier screamed.

Thom sat bolt upright in bed, his hands clutching at his sheets. Sweat poured down his face.

He was alone.

Oh, god. His stomach turned, then heaved, and suddenly he knew he was going to vomit. Thom started to run for the bathroom when he saw a bucket next to his bed. He grabbed it just in time for the bile to pour from his throat.

When he was done, he set the bucket down.

He’d never be free from the past. It would haunt him forever, clinging to him like a grimy film, tainting everything he did. And that was as it should be. It was right. He didn’t deserve to be free of what he’d done. He had no right to forget.

He made his way to the sink to rinse his mouth. The cold water woke him up some, and the here and now began to sink in. He remembered where he was and what he had done the night before.

He remembered Mirevas.

_Oh, Mirevas._

She must have left that bucket for him. She’d even left a little water in the bottom so it would be easier to clean. She was so thoughtful, so kind. No one had taken care of him this way since he was a little boy. No woman had ever made him feel like…

...like he was worthy.

Guilt clawed at him from the inside, a nearly physical pain. How dare he think for a second that he might deserve her? How dare he accept this woman’s kindness? He was a monster, and Mirevas was an angel. A shining savior, like a heroic knight from legend, capable of anything. A herald of light and goodness. 

He was a deceitful wretch. He shouldn’t even look at her, let alone touch her. Worse, he’d let her touch him. He’d allowed her to lavish her attention on him, and he’d lapped it up like a little puppy dog.

She never would have so much as looked at him if she knew the truth. And if she found out now, she would despise him for his deception. He imagined the look of horror on her face when she learned that the man whose hair she’d stroked so gently, who she’d cared for so tenderly, was a… was a…

He thought he might throw up again.

Enough was enough. Thom Rainier had no right to be with Mirevas Lavellan. He would not be the fiend that would steal her affections, let her fall in love with a lie. He would die before he let his tainted soul poison her life.

No, she was not for him. And it was time to let her go.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: [Wicked Game by Chris Isaak](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etxHaOghrIM)

“Buttercup, what the hell is going on?”

“What? What is it now?”

“It’s been two days, and your friend the Hero isn’t returning the Inkquisitor’s texts. She’s been moping around the shop, miserable. What the hell is he doing?”

“Shite, that fucking fuckhead!”

“Pretty much my thoughts, yeah.”

“Bloody hell. Don’t worry, Varric, I’ll fix it.”

“You’d better, because I’m starting to think this Hero doesn’t deserve her.”

“S’what he thinks, too. Beardy’s a good guy, though. Right, I’m on it.”

“Good.”

“Need you to tattoo me this week, all right?”

“You’re asking for a favor now?”

“Not for me, you tit. Need an excuse to drag the man in -- and keep him there.”

“Fine. Someone cancelled tomorrow, you can come in then. Seven o’clock?”

“That works.”

“What are you going to get?”

“...a butt? Hehehehehehehehe.”

\----------

Avoiding Mirevas was torture. Sera must have given her his phone number, because she’d texted him twice. The first one, on Friday morning, said, _This is Mirevas. I wanted to tell you I had a wonderful time with you last night. I hope I can see you again._

The second one was sent on Friday evening. It simply said, _Is everything okay?_

He’d stared at those two texts until he’d memorized every letter.

He thought about her every moment. Rotate tires. _Mirevas._ Change brake fluid. _Mirevas._ Replace muffler. _Mirevas._

She’d had a wonderful time. Even though he’d been a wreck, she wanted to see him again. How could she be so good as to see past all the awfulness he’d inflicted on her that night?

At night, when he went home, he would take off his shirt and gaze at his griffon backpiece in the mirror. Her mark was on his very body. The thought made him feel warm all over, as if he were wrapped up in a blanket of Mirevas. And at the same time, having that reminder of her with him all the time was torture. He ached to be with her. He felt her absence constantly.

Sometimes his thoughts would change. He would remember the luscious curves of her body, the fullness of her perfect breasts, the curve of her ass in her jeans. Fuck, he felt lower than dirt to bring her down to such a base level. She was a beacon of light, and the things he wanted to do to her…

He thought about her when he showered, his hand on his cock pumping furiously. He imagined spreading her legs and tasting what she offered. He imagined her lips stretched around his dick. He imagined pushing inside her sweet entrance, her breasts pressed against his chest, his hands on her ass…

And he came like a rocket, pleasure shaking his body until he couldn’t stand any more.

He needed to stop thinking about her. In any way. It was killing him. But he couldn’t stop remembering her any more than he could stop breathing. As long as he was alive, it seemed, she would be in his thoughts.

\----------

He was leaving work Sunday evening when a familiar car pulled up outside the shop. Sera leaned over from the driver seat to glare at him out the window. “Get in,” she ordered.

Bewildered, Blackwall did.

Sera gave him the dirtiest look he could imagine before putting the car back into drive and hitting the gas. “You’re a real arsehole, you know that?”

“What?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

Blackwall had the sinking feeling that he did. “It’s none of your business, Sera.”

“Like hell. I introduced you. Sort of. I let her take you home, and she took care of you, right? And then you blew her off. Arsehole.”

“Look, I -- it’s better for her.”

“Fuck you. You owe her a thank you. Not to mention a fucking explanation.”

Horror began to grow in Blackwall’s gut. “Sera. Where are you taking me?”

“I’m getting a tattoo, and you’re coming with me.”

Blackwall’s pulse quickened. He was about to see Mirevas again. No, he couldn’t see Mirevas again. Not now. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you damn well are. Besides the fact that I don’t want to sit there alone, you are going to talk to that woman. She deserves better than what you’ve done.”

“That’s the problem. She does.”

“S’not what I fucking mean, and you know it.”

“Doesn’t stop it from being true.”

“No, it’s not true, and I’ve had enough. You’re coming with me, and you’re going to say how sorry you are for being such a dick.”

“Sera--”

“Are you seriously going to refuse to apologize? Are you really that man?”

Guilt twisted his insides. No, no, he couldn’t be that man. Sera was right. What he’d done to Mirevas was wrong. It was wrong, and he needed to make it right.

Sera scowled at the road in front of her. “Why don’t you just tell her the damn truth?”

Blackwall thought of the way Mirevas would look at him if she knew who he really was. He couldn’t do it. He’d left all that behind in Detroit. This was his fresh start. He’d come to Chicago to escape the past, and he wouldn’t drag it with him here.

Of all people, he couldn’t tell Mirevas. He couldn’t be Thom Rainier to her. Not to her.

Sera kept up a constant string of profanities as she drove them to INKquisition.

\----------

Mirevas didn’t think she could take any more sympathetic looks from Josie, or contemplative stares from Solas, or careful avoidance from Leliana. She already felt terrible. She didn’t need reminders from them, well meaning as they might be.

Varric was the only one who went about things normally, and Mirevas was grateful. When she talked to Varric, she could forget for a few moments that she’d been jilted by the man she’d come to care about so quickly.

Yeah, sure she could.

Varric was the only one who acted like nothing was wrong, and that was why Varric was the one she decided to talk to about it.

“I guess I’ve learned my lesson,” she said to him. “No more falling for guys until they’ve shown some kind of commitment.”

Varric chuckled, and Mirevas glared at him. “I’m sorry, Inkquisitor, but that’s a hopeless cause. If you get to the commitment stage without falling for a guy, why would you want them to commit?”

Mirevas couldn’t deny his logic. “Then what’s the answer?”

“If I had one, I’d be a lot happier myself,” Varric said, turning Bianca over in his hands. “But in this case, I think you just need to step back. What happened the last time you saw Hero?”

She squinted at him. “You know what happened. He got drunk, and I took him home.”

“He puked all over the floor right in front of you. He was so inebriated he couldn’t even take care of himself. How do you think he feels?”

Mirevas frowned. “You mean… you think he’s--”

“Embarrassed, humiliated, ashamed to show his face --”

“Really?”

Varric shrugged. “All I’m saying is, it might not be time to give up just yet.”

Mirevas took a moment to process this. Was it possible that Blackwall was still interested? That he though she wouldn’t want him after he got so drunk, and he just needed to be reassured?

Varric cleared his throat and nodded at something behind her. Confused, Mirevas turned, just in time to see Blackwall and Sera coming through the door.

Her heart jumped into her throat.  
\----------

Mirevas was even more beautiful than Blackwall remembered.

Now that he was sober, he could begrudgingly admit that others -- like Sera, apparently -- might think she was plain. But the things about her that didn’t fit conventional beauty standards were the things he found loveliest. Her thick, full lips were tantalizingly kissable. The shape of her nose was elegant and unique. And those eyes, those brown eyes, they looked right into his soul.

He pitied anyone who couldn’t see how gorgeous this woman was.

She stood before him, unmoving, and he drank in the sight of her. As much as he’d thought about her over the last three days, his memory couldn’t do her justice. The rest of the shop seemed to disappear. Mirevas was the only person in the world.

Then she tore her eyes away, biting her lip, and everything came rushing back. She walked away from him to her station without saying a word.

Sera gave him a shove in her direction, and he stumbled. Annoyed, he turned to glare at Sera, only to see her giving him a pointed look.

Yes, she was right. Heart pounding, Blackwall approached Mirevas.

“Hello, my lady,” he said.

Mirevas looked up at him, a forced smile on her lips. “Good to see you, Blackwall.”

He felt an acute pain at the tightness in her shoulders, the distrust in her eyes. Christ, he’d messed this one up bad.

“I--” Blackwall swallowed. “I wanted to apologize for not returning your texts.”

Mirevas looked at the floor. “I didn’t know if you were dead or alive at first.” She shrugged. “Silly, I know, but…”

Oh, god. “Not silly.” Blackwall had to fight to resist the urge to take her in his arms, to comfort her. “My behavior was unconscionable.”

“No,” she said. “I get it. If you’re not interested, it’s okay. I understand.”

“That’s not it,” Blackwall protested. He probably should let it go, but he couldn’t stand the idea that she’d think he didn’t want her. “You don’t -- you can’t -- you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You have the world at your feet, myself included.”

Confusion and pain mixed with hope in her eyes, and that hope nearly brought Blackwall to his knees. “Then -- why --?”

“My lady.” He struggled to find an explanation that wouldn’t give everything away. “There’s nothing I can offer you. You’d have no life with me.”

She frowned. “Are… you married?”

“Christ, no!”

She looked at him, her eyes locked on his, searching them for god knew what. Blackwall felt as though he was laid bare before her eyes, all his thoughts plain for her to see. Those penetrating eyes…

Finally, she spoke. “There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?”

His heart beat hard and fast. Nothing got past her.

Mirevas shook her head. “I’m not going to pry into your secrets. And I’m not going to push you into something you don’t want. But I would like it if we -- if we could be friends.”

Friends. It was more than he deserved, but so much less than he wanted. “Yes, my lady. I would like being your friend very much.”

She nodded once. “Well, then, do you have a day off this week? We could get coffee. As friends.”

“Yes, I--” Blackwall’s heart sank. “Oh. No. I don’t.”

Mirevas’s face froze over. “Oh.”

“No, it’s not that. I volunteer. I mean, I do volunteer work on my days off.”

“...oh. Really?”

Blackwall nodded.

“Where?”

“It’s called the Skyhold Project. Helping to clean up neglected neighborhoods.”

“What days?”

“What?”

“What days are you volunteering?”

“This week?”

“Yes.”

Blackwall couldn’t think why she was asking, but he answered obligingly. “Tuesday and Friday.”

“Perfect. Fridays are my day off.”

He didn’t understand. “But I’ll be volunteering.”

“Yes. I’ll volunteer with you.”

It took him a moment to process those words, and when he did, his jaw fell open. “You would volunteer with me?”

She frowned. “Do I not seem like someone who would do volunteer work?”

“No. I mean yes, you do. I just --” She didn’t just want to see him. She wanted to see him so much that she would give up her day off to work with him. “It’s a lot more than a cup of coffee.”

“Oh.” Mirevas’s face went blank. “It’s too much, then?”

“No!” He was fucking this up big time. “I want you to come. It will be a lot more fun with you there.”

She bestowed her beautiful smile on him. “Well, then, how about if I pick you up beforehand? What time?”

“Eight o’clock?”

“Sounds great.”

She wanted to volunteer with him. Blackwall shook his head in disbelief and spoke without thinking. “My lady, every time I think you can’t get any more perfect, you do something else to amaze me. I am -- in awe of you.”

Mirevas gave him a skeptical look, but before he could respond to it, her eyes fixed on something out the window. “Oh, wonderful,” she said in dismay.

Blackwall turned to see a man outside the shop standing on the sidewalk and carrying a sign that said **KEEP OUR NEIGHBORHOOD CLASSY**. The other side read **NO TATTOO SHOP IN OUR BACKYARD**.

Mirevas groaned.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is, I think, a good time for me to give credit to Aphreal, vandenlun, and eshu13 for helping me to cast the characters in this modern setting.

“Mr. Asignon, you know you can’t be here.”

Roderick Asignon hefted his sign and squinted at Mirevas in a way that was obviously meant to be threatening. Mirevas found it more exasperating than anything else. “I am exercising my first amendment rights, young lady, and I intend to continue doing so.”

Mirevas swallowed her frustration and gave the man a calm look. “And I support your right to free speech, sir, even against my place of business, but you cannot block the sidewalk here. My customers cannot get through.”

“There is no other place to stand, and I will not be forced away.”

“As you say. But you should know, Mr. Asignon, that the police have already been called.”

“And perhaps this time they shall recognize their duty to uphold my constitutional rights.”

Mirevas suppressed a sigh. “Perhaps. But I thought it best that I give you fair warning.”

“Warning received, young lady. And I warn you -- this has been a family neighborhood for time out of mind, and I will not be bullied away while people like you drag it through the mud.”

There was no point in trying to reason with him. Mirevas had enough experience with the man to know that. “Well, then, I wish you a good evening, Mr. Asignon,” she said, and went back inside.

Blackwall was waiting by the front desk next to Josie, looking a bit angry. “Is everything all right?”

“Fine,” she assured him. “Roderick shows up every once in a while with his sign. The police will come and probably arrest him. Again.”

“Speaking of which,” Josie said, nodding towards the front. Mirevas turned. Cullen and Cassandra had arrived.

\----------

“I’ll leave for now, but this isn’t over! I won’t stand by while property values plummet thanks to these upstart punks!”

Cullen suppressed his irritation and responded as patiently as he could. “You’re entitled to your opinion, sir. Just as long as you respect the law.”

Roderick Asignon strode away, and Cullen let out a sigh. That had been relatively painless, all things considered. Cullen turned to Cassandra and gestured to the shop. “Shall we go in?”

“Of course,” was her curt reply.

By now, both he and Cassandra knew the people of INKquisition well. Cullen had gotten to know Mirevas in particular. As it turned out, Mirevas’s adoptive dad had grown up in Michigan with Cullen’s father, and the two men had been childhood friends. Cullen had sat for a tattoo from Mirevas, and he’d enjoyed her conversation and company.

There was a new face here today. A tall, burly man with a ruddy complexion and an impressive beard. Then again -- was he a new face? Cullen was sure he’d seen him somewhere before.

The shop manager, Josie, put down her pen. “He went home?”

“Yes,” Cassandra said.

“For now,” Cullen added. “But you should call us if he comes back.”

The bearded man’s brow creased. “Maybe I should stay around for a while. In case he does.”

Mirevas put a hand on the man’s arm, and his face softened immediately. He gazed at Mirevas in undisguised admiration.

_Ah,_ thought Cullen.

“Oi!” called a woman from a tattooist’s chair. “You’re sticking around anyway, arse. You’re supposed to be keeping me company while I get tattooed.”

Cullen frowned. “Staying is all well and good, but don’t take matters into your own hands. If he comes back, call the police.”

“Don’t worry, we will.” Mirevas turned to the bearded man with a reassuring half smile. “Roderick is toothless, Blackwall. All bluster. You don’t need to be concerned for us.”

Blackwall. No, the name wasn’t familiar, but the man’s face… maybe without the beard…

“Excuse me,” Cullen said, “but do I know you from somewhere?”

The man stiffened. “I don’t think you could. I’m new to…”

He trailed off, recognition dawning in his eyes.

And Cullen remembered.

Mirevas looked back and forth between the two of them. “Blackwall” had a strained expression on his face, and Lord only knew what Cullen must look like in this moment. His entire body had gone tense. Mirevas’s hand tightened on Blackwall’s arm in what appeared to be an unconscious gesture of protection, and it drew Cullen’s eye.

He gritted his teeth.

“Blackwall,” Cullen said, the name uncomfortable on his tongue, “may I speak to you outside?”

Now everyone was watching them.

“Yes.” The man looked despondent, resigned. “I think that would be best.”

Cassandra harumphed. “I’ll wait in the car.”

Cullen and Blackwall followed Cassandra out. As soon as they stepped out the door, Cullen turned to the man behind him.

“Rainier.”

“Rutherford.”

“What are you doing here?”

Thom Rainier looked away. “I came here -- left Detroit -- to get a fresh start.”

Did he deserve a fresh start? Cullen didn’t know, but it wasn’t his place to judge. Not about that.

“And you?”

Cullen eyed the man distrustfully. “Detroit laid off a lot of people, and Chicago was hiring. So here I am.”

Rainier nodded awkwardly. A short silence followed.

It was Cullen who broke it. “But what are you doing _here_?”

“I… told you. Starting over. Making amends, as much as I can.”

“That’s noble, I suppose. But it’s not what I mean. What are you doing here, with Mirevas Lavellan?”

Rainier blinked. “Nothing.”

Cullen’s irritation grew. “Don’t lie to me.”

“We’re friends. She’s tattooing my back. It’s not a lie.”

Cullen crossed his arms. “She doesn’t look at you like a friend.”

He couldn’t read Rainier’s expression.

“Does she know?” Cullen pressed.

Rainier’s lips tightened. “No one here knows.”

Cullen’s distaste for the man grew. “I see.”

“You disapprove?”

“Not entirely. Your secrets are your business. But I happen to care about Mirevas, and I don’t want to see anyone messing around with her.”

Thom Rainier shook his head as if to clear it. “We’re friends. I would never mess around with her. You have my word.”

The word of a criminal. But then, Rainier _had_ turned himself in…

“Very well,” Cullen said. “I believe you.”

There was nothing more to say. Cullen started to walk away, and then something occurred to him. He turned back.

“If that changes, you’ll tell her?”

Rainier’s face was inscrutable. “It won’t change.”

Cullen found that unlikely, but it wasn’t his business. He nodded and walked back to the squad car.

“What was that about?” Cassandra asked once he was in.

Cullen looked out the window. “Just someone I used to know.”

Cassandra harumphed again and put the car into drive.

\----------

Cullen Rutherford. 

It figured. Of course he would run into someone from the Detroit force.

Thom felt all the walls around him, the walls he’d so painstakingly built up, crumbling down upon him. The past could never stay buried. It always caught up to him, always found him again.

Rutherford.

He hadn’t known the man well, but that didn’t matter. Every cop in Detroit knew who Thom was. They would never forget his face, and no beard could change that.

Thom -- no, Blackwall, Blackwall -- pushed open the door to INKquisition.

Mirevas stood by the counter, looking concerned. “Is everything all right?”

Blackwall forced a smile on his face. “Great. Officer Rutherford is an old acquaintance, that’s all.”

“Really?” That was Leliana. Blackwall hadn’t even seen her approach. “How do you know him?”

“I --” Blackwall floundered.

Mirevas gave the redhead an intimidating look. “It’s none of our business, Leliana.”

Leliana blinked. “Of course not.” She nodded to Blackwall. “My apologies.”

With that, Leliana retreated back to her station, and Josie found something else to be doing. Mirevas jerked her head to the side, and they both stepped aside, out of earshot of the others.

“Thank you,” Blackwall said.

Mirevas shrugged. “No need to thank me. I told you I’d respect your privacy, and I meant it.”

“Yes, I can see you did.” A woman of her word, someone he could trust. Christ, he didn’t have a chance of resisting her, did he?

The bell of the front door jingled, and a customer stepped in.

“That’s my client.” Her tone was apologetic. “But -- Friday? I’ll pick you up?”

“Yes, my lady.” Friday. It was ages away and still too soon.

She gave him one of those smiles that made the room light up. “I look forward to it,” she said before walking away.

Across the room, Blackwall saw Varric and Sera grinning at each other. He ought to be angry with Sera for meddling in his personal affairs.

But he was going to see Mirevas again, and although he knew he should be staying away, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.


	10. Chapter 10

Mirevas was picking him up at eight. Blackwall woke up that morning, heart pounding, with the sudden worry that he’d overslept. He fumbled frantically for his phone, lighting up the display to see --

\-- that it was five a.m.

Blackwall was wide awake, adrenaline pumping through his veins, and he knew that falling back asleep was out of the question.

He sat up, trying to figure out what he would do for the next three hours.

His eyes landed on his small shelf of books. Reading, that was an idea. Blackwall picked up his book of Arthurian legends. Mirevas liked these stories; she’d said so. Maybe if he read them, he could think of things to talk about with her. Maybe even sound intelligent.

Yes, that was a good plan. Read the book that Mirevas had read. The book she’d held in her hands. Her long, slender hands. Where had her fingers touched it, he wondered? Did she hold the book the same way he was right now? Was his hand making contact with the same places hers had?

Christ, he was about one minute away from caressing the damn book. He threw it down on the bed. So much for reading.

Blackwall dragged a hand over his face. Okay. He could pick out his clothing. Something that would impress Mirevas. What would she like for him to wear? 

No, this was ridiculous. She didn’t notice what he wore.

Did she?

Of course she didn’t, and even if she did, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t supposed to be trying to impress her. They were friends. They’d agreed. And that was what he wanted.

Maybe if he kept telling himself that, he would start to believe it.

Ridiculous or not, now that the idea was in his head, Blackwall couldn’t get it out. All right, fine. He would plan his outfit. Why not? He went to his closet and started pulling out t-shirts. Mirevas liked classic metal, and he had plenty of concert shirts. Which one would she like the best?

A half hour later, his bed was covered with t-shirts, and he was no closer to making a decision than he’d been when he started.

Okay, he needed help.

\----------

“Fucking fuck! What?”

“Sera? I need your help.”

“Blackwall?”

“Yes. I need you to help me with something.”

Her voice was immediately alert. “Is it the cops? Where are you?”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.” Damn, now he felt guilty for calling her at this hour. “I need you to help me decide what to wear today.”

“Beardy. Do you have any bloody idea what time it is?”

“It’s five-forty.” He knew exactly. He had two hours and twenty minutes to be ready for Mirevas to arrive, and suddenly it didn’t seem like near enough time.

“Five-fucking-forty. In the bloody morning.”

“I know.” Sera was always up late, too. But while Blackwall felt guilty for scaring her, he didn’t feel bad about interrupting her sleep. Her phone calls were constantly waking him up in the middle of the night when she partied, and she never apologized, either. “Look, Mirevas will be here in two hours and nineteen minutes. Will you help me or not?”

Sera groaned. “Of course I’ll bloody help you. What are your options?”

“...pretty much every concert tee I own.”

“Christ, you do need help. Right, we’ll start by narrowing it down. Who have you got?”

\----------

Blackwall was wrong. Mirevas knocked on his door in two hours and five minutes.

Blackwall was wearing a tight Black Sabbath t-shirt with jeans and sturdy work boots, and despite Sera’s annoyed assurances, he was still worried about what Mirevas would think. He didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard. And they were going to be working, so it had to be casual. Was a concert tee too much? Should he have worn something simpler, something plain?

No, this was probably good. Sera had approved it, after all.

Then he remembered Sera’s taste and thought maybe calling her hadn’t been the best idea.

Oh well. It was too late now. Mirevas was knocking on the door. As he walked to answer it, something occurred to him that he hadn’t thought to wonder about before.

What would Mirevas be wearing?

The thought made Blackwall’s stomach flip flop. He opened the door.

And his jaw dropped.

He was looking at more of Mirevas’s skin than he’d ever seen before. It wasn’t that her outfit was revealing, exactly. Her t-shirt -- black with the image of a red dragon -- appeared to have been cut up and tied back together to make a halter top that showed a bit of her stomach. And her shorts -- they weren’t indecent, but Christ, her legs. They were slender and shapely, displaying even more tattoos. One leg showed the same flowing lines that decorated her face and chest, sloping over her curves. The other held a slender band of writing around her thigh.

God, she was gorgeous.

He came out of his trance to realize he was staring at her openmouthed, and his cheeks began to burn. Then he looked at Mirevas’s face -- and saw that she was staring at his body, too.

His cheeks got even hotter.

Mirevas blinked, then met his eyes and smiled shyly. “Hello, Blackwall.”

Blackwall’s mouth was dry. “Hello.”

She nodded at his torso. “I love your shirt.”

_Yes._

\----------

Good god, Blackwall was sexy.

Mirevas couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him as she drove. His muscles bulged under the tight cotton of his shirt, and his jeans showed off his body in a way that made her mouth water. She needed to stop looking at him. They were friends. Blackwall didn’t want anything more than that.

But it was really unfair that she’d met a man whose interests coincided so perfectly with hers, who was kind and attentive and utterly sweet, who was gorgeous enough to make her melt -- and she couldn’t have him.

She had to take her mind off it. Her mind fumbled for a topic of conversation, and she thought of something she’d been curious about for some time. “How do you know Sera?”

Blackwall smiled. “I met her when she was a kid, ten years old. I was seventeen. Went to England on an exchange student program and stayed with her foster family for a summer.” He chuckled. “I bet they were sorry to have me there. Age difference aside, Sera and I were two peas in a pod. And we got into a lot of trouble. I like to think I taught her a thing or two.”

“Really?” This was not the story Mirevas expected to hear.

“Yes. She’d been through a lot of foster families. Only stayed with the one I knew for a couple of years, and then it was on to the next.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“Yeah. She did okay in the end, though. She’s a human rights lawyer now.”

Mirevas was stunned. The crude, loudmouthed woman she’d met at the Charger’s concert was a lawyer? “I had no idea.”

Blackwall laughed. “It is surprising, given the way she acts, isn’t it? Took her a long time to get where she is. And she’s still the prankster. But she helps a lot of people now, and she loves being able to, quote, ‘stick it to all those rich pricks who think their shite don’t stink.’”

“And you stayed in touch all these years?”

Blackwall shook his head. “I lost track of her after that summer. We found each other on Facebook about ten years ago, when I was -- about ten years ago. Came to find out that as soon as she turned eighteen, she sold everything she owned to come to the States. Didn’t even have a place to live lined up.”

“Wow.” Mirevas felt her heart going out to the woman. 

“Eh, don’t feel sorry for her. She wouldn’t want it, and she did okay. Lucky for her, she’s always had lots of friends. She slept on people’s couches for years. Sera has a gift for working her connections. Gets this one to do a favor for that one, and they help her out for arranging the whole thing.” 

“That’s amazing.”

Blackwall nodded. “She’s an amazing person. Stands by her friends no matter what.”

Mirevas felt a twinge of jealousy. Which was ridiculous. But then… 

“Was there ever anything… more between you two?”

Blackwall threw his head back and laughed.

Mirevas felt her face get warm, embarrassed for having asked what was obviously a stupid question.

“I’m sorry,” Blackwall said. “No. When I look at Sera, a part of me will always see the little girl with the big mouth I met years ago. Besides, she’s a lesbian.”

Now Mirevas felt really stupid. “Oh.”

A silence followed. Then Blackwall said, “Anyway, it’s been a long time since I’ve felt that way about...anyone.”

Mirevas couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her face.

Blackwall inclined his head towards the window. “This is it. Right here.”

It was a smallish stretch of land sandwiched between two buildings. Several people stood on the plot, mostly clustered around a polished-looking woman with a clipboard. Nodding her acknowledgement, Mirevas guided the car into parallel parking and shut off the engine.

\----------

Meriana Cousland Guerrin was hard to surprise. After all, you couldn’t run a project like Skyhold without running into all kinds of entanglements and complications. The unexpected was routine for her.

But when her most devoted volunteer, Blackwall, got out of a car with a pretty young woman, Meri was definitely surprised.

There were about a million things that needed her attention, but this couldn’t be ignored. Meri immediately approached the two, who appeared to be trying very hard not to look at each other and failing miserably. It was downright adorable. Goodness, Blackwall must be about twice this girl’s size.

“Hello,” Meri said to the woman, holding out a hand. “I’m Meriana Guerrin, director of the Skyhold Project.”

“Mirevas Lavellan, humble volunteer,” she said, taking it.

“Mirevas,” Meri repeated. “How do you know Blackwall?”

She smiled. “I’m his tattooist.”

“And friend,” Blackwall added.

Friends. So not a couple. Yet. This was very interesting. “And you’re here to help?”

The woman smiled. “If you’ll have me.”

“Of course. We’re cleaning up this area today, getting it ready to be a community garden. Perhaps you can start in the northwest corner?”

Blackwall nodded.

“Well. Thank you for coming, Mirevas. I’m sure Blackwall can show you the ropes.”

“Yes,” Blackwall said. “Of course.”

Meri grinned, an impish notion coming to her mind. “Stick close to that man,” she told Mirevas. “I’m sure he can give you everything you need.”

Mirevas blinked. “I will.”

Blackwall led Mirevas away, and Meri almost laughed. These two were too cute for words, and if Meri had anything to do with it, she’d have them together by the end of the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meriana Cousland Guerrin is property of Chenria. :)


	11. Chapter 11

Volunteering was absolute torture for Mirevas.

It wasn’t the work. The work was actually fun, and it felt good to know that she was giving to a community that needed it. No, volunteering was torture because of Blackwall. Because of the compliments he showered on her. Because of the way he looked at her, like the whole world was in her eyes. Because of the little ways he found to touch her as they worked.

Because she wanted him with her entire being, and she couldn’t be with him.

It didn’t stop her from returning his attentions, though. If he let his hand brush hers when handing her a tool, she’d touch his arm as she thanked him. If he gazed at her with darkened eyes, she’d smile coyly from under her lashes. She didn’t really mean to do it -- she wanted to respect his wish to just be friends -- but damn it, if he was going to tease her this way, it was only fair that she return the favor, wasn’t it?

\----------

Why on earth did Blackwall ever think he could be friends with Mirevas and not want more? She was driving him mad. He didn’t think it was on purpose, but it didn’t really matter. She was beautiful, kind, funny -- perfect in every way he could think of. And all he wanted to do was sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

\----------

Watching Blackwall and Mirevas had to be one of the most frustrating things Meri had ever done, and that was saying something. It was so obvious they were crazy about each other, and so obvious something was holding Blackwall back. 

Meri made a point to check in on them a few times under the pretext of surveying their work, and she made sure to drop a few hints to Mirevas about how great Blackwall was. It seemed to work. Mirevas’s cheeks would turn a little pink every time Meri said something. But honestly, Meri didn’t think Mirevas’s feelings were the problem. Meri had the feeling that the tattooist would jump straight into Blackwall’s arms if he would let her.

No, Blackwall was the problem here. But with enough time in Mirevas’s company, Meri was sure the man would crack.

So when Mirevas gave her the opening, Meri jumped on it.

It came when the three of them were taking a water break. Mirevas paused to examine the brick buildings surrounding the space. “Do you have any plans for those walls?” she asked.

“Not as of now,” Meri said. “Did you have something in mind?”

“A mural might be nice. Something the neighborhood kids could design and paint themselves. A way for them to put their touch on the space.”

Meri looked at her in admiration. For all that she was young, this was clearly a woman with brilliant ideas. Meri became even more convinced that Mirevas was exactly what Blackwall needed. “You have a great mind,” Meri said. “Yes, that’s perfect. And I’m going to make it happen.”

Mirevas beamed. “I’m glad I could contribute.”

That’s when it hit her. The perfect way to push these two lovebirds together, and get a great mural out of the deal as well. “Do you have any interest in overseeing the project?” Meri asked. “I understand you’re an artist.”

Mirevas’s smile faltered. “A tattoo artist.”

“Yes, exactly. It was your idea, and I think you’d be perfect for the job. And Blackwall, you’re already volunteering. I think your work ethic could really benefit an undertaking like this.”

Blackwall looked at Mirevas.

“You’d both have to go through a background check to work with kids,” Meri added as an afterthought, “but that would just be a formality.”

Blackwall’s face was like stone. “I’m sorry,” he told Meri. “I’m not very good with kids. If you need physical labor, I’m your man. But I don’t think this is the project for me.”

Without another word, Blackwall walked off to start working again. Meri glanced at Mirevas, flummoxed.

“I’m sorry, too,” Mirevas said. “I run my own tattoo shop; I wouldn’t have time to oversee something this big personally. But I know lots of artists, and I can definitely get you volunteers.”

And Mirevas followed Blackwall, leaving Meri standing alone, completely stymied.

\----------

By the end of the day, Blackwall knew for sure he’d been a fool to think he could be satisfied with Mirevas’s mere friendship. It was as obvious as could be. Every part of him ached for her, and every time he looked at her, it only hurt more.

It was only a matter of time before he gave in. If she would have him, he would be hers. It was inevitable.

He was a monster. A liar. He let her think he was a good person, when underneath it all, he was lower than the lowliest snake. She was so attentive to him, so sweet. And he, fiend that he was, allowed it.

He didn’t have the willpower to refuse what she offered. He wanted her too much. And he hated himself for it.

There were only two options before him. One was to disappear. To leave her life completely. To walk around with an unfinished tattoo, a permanent reminder of the most amazing woman he’d ever known. The other was to give up. To let himself fall in love with her -- and let her fall in love with him. To become truly the monster he knew he was.

Mirevas turned to him with a smile, and he knew he was going to take that second option.

No. No, he couldn’t. There was another way.

He could tell her the truth.

She would reject him once she knew. He had no doubt of it. But that was what he deserved. And he would live with it, somehow. He couldn’t stay away from her on his own. If anyone was going to end this, it would have to be her.

\----------

They were both very quiet as Mirevas drove them home. Blackwall was turning the words over and over in his head.

_Mirevas, I’m a criminal._

_There’s something I need to tell you. When I was younger--_

_I’ve done something awful, Mirevas, and it’s unforgivable._

Oh, god. He didn’t know how he would get through this.

Mirevas pulled over in front of his apartment building and put the car in park.

Now or never. “Mirevas.”

She looked at him with those beautiful brown eyes. “Yes?”

“There’s something--” He choked on the words. “I need to--”

Mirevas watched him, her brow creased with worry. She was so compassionate, so kind. He didn’t deserve her concern.

“I--Would you like to come up?”

He hadn’t meant to say that. It was pretty much the opposite of what he’d meant to say.

Mirevas nodded. “Yes. Yes, I would like that very much.”

They were going to be alone in his apartment. Christ. This was a very bad idea.

\----------

Blackwall unlocked the door to his studio and pushed it open, grateful that this time, at least, he was able to open his own door without falling over drunk. On the other hand, being completely sober, he was hyper-aware of Mirevas’s presence. No one ever came here. Even Sera only ever met him out at the bars over drinks. There was nothing to do in his tiny space.

He looked at Mirevas. Well, nothing except--

His ears grew hot, and he looked away, clearing his throat. “Would you, ah, like to sit?”

“Yes,” she said. “Thank you.”

And she perched herself on the side of the bed. His bed. Where he slept. Where he--

Christ, he needed to get his mind out of the gutter. “Drink?” he offered.

“Some water would be good.”

He nodded and took the few small steps to his little “kitchen.” A moment later, he’d filled a cup with water and was handing it to Mirevas.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

Right. It was time to do this.

He sat next to her.

“I hope you can forgive me for pushing you away,” he said.

Mirevas tilted her head. “You must have had your reasons.”

“But I can’t just ask you to trust those reasons blindly. There’s something -- Mirevas, there’s something I have to tell you.” God, this was near impossible. Blackwall forced the words from his throat. “Who I am. What I am.”

Mirevas put her hand on top of his, and he started.

“I know who you are,” she said. 

His heart started racing. “You do?”

“You’re a man who gives up his free time to help other people. Who believes in bravery and valor and honor. A man who treats me more kindly and gently than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Blackwall stared at her, mouth agape. Could that truly be what she thought of him?

“I just want you to know that I see that.” One finger stroked the back of his hand, and he shivered. “And I like the person I see.”

The man she saw -- he wanted to be that man so badly. He had worked and fought and tried so hard to become an honorable person, someone to be admired. But it was impossible. He wasn’t that man. He never could be.

Except in Mirevas’s eyes. In her eyes, he already was.

Oh, god.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t destroy that image of him. She believed he was a good person,and he -- god, he needed it. He would never be that person to anyone else. To be seen as she saw him -- it was his dream, everything he wanted. If he told her, the dream would shatter like so much fine glass.

No. He was too weak. He didn’t have the strength to do it.

Blackwall pushed himself up from the bed and crossed to the sink, putting a hand on either side of it and hanging his head. “This -- this little room, that volunteer site, the car shop -- it was my life before you. There’s nothing I can offer you.”

“I’m not asking for anything. Except-- except what you’re willing to give.”

Blackwall trembled. It was too much to resist.

“I--”

_Tell her. Tell her, you weak, pathetic fool. You coward._

“I--”

_Don’t lie to her, bastard. She deserves the truth._

“I need to -- I need --”

_Tell her. Tell her._

“I need to think.”

Behind him, he heard Mirevas stand, and the sound of plastic on wood as she set her cup of water on his dresser. Soft footsteps approached him. Her hand touched his back, and he shuddered, closing his eyes.

“I’ll let you do that, then.” Her voice was nearly a whisper. “And when you’re ready, if -- if you decide you’re ready -- I’ll be here.”

Her hand slid away. Her footsteps retreated. Blackwall heard the door creak open, and then close.

He collapsed onto his elbows. Fucking hell. He really never stood a chance, did he?


	12. Chapter 12

Mirevas couldn’t fall asleep. Her heart was fluttering too much. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard Blackwall’s broken voice, felt the way his muscular frame trembled when she touched him. 

_I need to-- I need--_

What was it that he needed?

She shouldn’t have left when she did. She should have stayed, comforted him…

...kissed him…

...pushed him down on that bed and…

Mirevas groaned, burying her face in her pillow.

She didn’t even know when she would see him again. For all she knew, he would pull the same disappearing act he’d tried before, ignoring her texts, avoiding her. They’d made no plans. She had no guarantees.

But she didn’t think he was going to disappear again. No, just the opposite. She thought he was going to--

She couldn’t even think it, afraid she might jinx herself.

When she finally fell asleep, the exhaustion of the day overtaking her, it was with Blackwall in her mind, imagining his strong arms wrapped around her.

\----------

He was still on her mind the next morning when she parked her car in front of the shop. She was early, but she had some paperwork that needed to be filled out, and focusing on that was better than letting her nerves about Blackwall overtake her. She got out of the car and shut the door, turning toward the shop.

And stopped dead in her tracks.

Blackwall was sitting on her doorstep.

He rose when he saw her and took a step forward, one hand reaching slightly toward her and then falling back to his side. He looked exhausted, rumpled, as though he’d been sitting there all night.

He looked beautiful.

Mirevas realized she was staring and cleared her throat. Awkwardly, she stepped around the car, coming to stand in front of him. He watched her with wide eyes, as if afraid she might not be real.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she whispered.

“I wanted to thank you for coming with me yesterday.” His voice was rough, hoarse. “I wanted to--”

His shoulders slumped, and raw vulnerability crossed his face. “I just had to see you.” 

Enough. No more waiting. Mirevas stepped forward, taking his face in her hands, and pulled him down to her.

Her lips met his, and he exhaled in a soft moan. He kissed her tentatively, reverentially, and it made Mirevas shiver.

It wasn’t enough. She pressed her lips harder against him, opening just enough to suck his bottom lip into her mouth.

Blackwall responded to her urgency. His arms came round her waist, his hands clutching fistfuls of her shirt as he plundered her mouth. Mirevas gasped under the onslaught of sensation. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down closer so she could access his lips more readily.

Blackwall broke the kiss with a groan, but didn’t pull back. Instead, he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, his breath coming fast.

“Tell me to stop, my lady.” He opened his eyes, and they were wild, desperate. “Please. I need you to end this, because I can’t.”

Mirevas slid her hand down to grab him by the front of his shirt. “If you fucking stop,” she growled, “I’ll kill you.”

That was all it took. He was on her again. His arms held her even tighter, lifting her up onto her tiptoes as he attacked her mouth. His tongue probed her lips, and she opened for him, meeting his tongue with her own.

Blackwall dragged his lips away. “Christ -- Mirevas--”

Mirevas’s head was spinning, but she managed to get out one word. “Inside.”

Blackwall nodded, then kissed her again as if she hadn’t spoken.

Trying not to break away, Mirevas fumbled for her keys and felt her way to the door. She pulled her lips from his just long enough to slip the key in the lock and push the door open.

As soon as they were inside and the glass door was closed and locked, Blackwall pushed her up against it and claimed her lips again.

It was too much - and not nearly enough. After so much wanting and waiting, she needed him more than she could have thought possible. Hesitantly, her fingers lifted the hem of his t-shirt, and she slipped her hands underneath, feeling a thrill at the sensation of skin against skin.

Blackwall tore away from her, only to press his face against her neck. “Mirevas…”

She had just enough rational thought to say, “My office. We should go to my office.”

He groaned but nodded against her neck.

\----------

Blackwall thought he might be dying. Surely no one could experience this much pleasure and live through it. Mirevas was everywhere, her tiny frame pressed so close to him, her lips so passionate and demanding against his. He didn’t know if he could take much more, and yet he never wanted this to end.

It was near impossible to drag himself away from her long enough to follow her to her office, but somehow he managed.

Good god, he was really doing this. He had Mirevas here, now, and she wanted him, and he wanted her, and nothing stood in their way.

Nothing stood in their way because he wasn’t letting it.

That was a bad thing, right? He needed to stop. There was too much she didn’t know…

Mirevas closed the door to her office behind them and grinned up at him, almost shy.

He was never going to stop.

Blackwall put a hand behind her head and lowered his mouth to hers. This time it was soft, sweet, gentle. He was starving for her, but he forced himself not to rush. He wanted to cherish every moment he touched her, every second of having Mirevas in his arms.

She moaned in complaint at his slow pace, trying to deepen the kiss, and he drew back, just enough to keep the contact light. In response, Mirevas slid her hands back under his shirt, running them over the skin of his stomach.

Blackwall broke the kiss with a gasp. “Mirevas--”

Mirevas splayed her hands over his sides. “You, Blackwall, are a tease.”

His breathing was ragged. “Is it teasing to want to make this last?”

“Oh, hell, yes.”

All right. He would give her what she wanted.

His resolve was in tatters, anyway.

Blackwall bent down to give himself leverage and wrapped his arms around her thighs, lifting her straight up off the ground. Mirevas squeaked in surprise. Without pausing, he stepped forward into the room and set her down on her desk.

Mirevas took advantage of the position to wrap her legs around him. Christ, she was driving him mad. She tugged on his t-shirt, and that was all the cue he needed. In an instant, he had the shirt off over his head.

Her hands went immediately to his chest, her fingers running through his chest hair. “Mmm, you’re so fuzzy.”

Blackwall could feel his ears getting hot. He was well aware of how hairy he was. Hell, he was like a yeti under his shirt.

Mirevas pressed her lips to his chest, and he forgot all about being embarrassed.

Her chin tilted upward, and Blackwall leaned down to kiss her again. He slid his hands up from her waist, slowly, slowly… his thumbs stroked the sides of her breasts…

The bell of the shop door made them both jump.

There was the sound of footsteps, and a light switch being flicked. Then an accented female voice called, “Inkquisitor?”

Mirevas pressed her face against Blackwall’s neck. “Josie,” she groaned quietly. “She’s opening the shop.”

“Inkquisitor?” the voice came again.

“She’s not here,” Blackwall called.

Mirevas clapped a hand over her mouth, but she couldn’t quite muffle her laugher.

“Oh,” said Josie, and then, “Oh! My apologies, Blackwall. I will just...turn on some music, I think. Some _loud_ music.”

A moment later, Ozzie Osbourne and Lita Ford were belting out “If I Close My Eyes Forever” over the shop’s speaker system.

Mirevas’s head fell forward in laughter.

“She’s not subtle,” Blackwall said.

“Not in this case, at least.”

Mirevas was beautiful when she laughed.

“I guess we’d better stop,” Blackwall said with reluctance. Stopping was the last thing he wanted to do.

“We’d better.” Mirevas didn’t sound any happier about the idea.

He sighed and reached for his shirt. Mirevas stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“We can pick this up soon enough.” Her voice was low.

Yes. Yes, they could, and this time he would do things right. Blackwall thought for a second, then smiled. “Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow, my lady?”

Mirevas beamed with happiness, and it made his heart skip a beat. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do,” she said.


	13. Chapter 13

Mirevas hadn’t said a word about what happened with Blackwall to any of her coworkers. So, of course, they all knew.

Dagna was the first person to say something. “Oh, Inkquisitor! I heard Blackwall was here this morning. In your office. With _you_.”

Mirevas gave Josephine a withering look.

Josie put up her hands. “You can’t expect me to keep this to myself, surely!”

Varric paused tattooing to dip Bianca’s needle into the ink and glanced up at Mirevas. “Don’t be angry, Inkquisitor. We all would have found out sooner or later.”

Mirevas looked around the shop. Varric was tattooing one of Iron Bull’s friends, a guy named Krem, who had raised his eyebrows but otherwise said nothing. Leliana was pretending not to notice their conversation, busily tattooing a pair of lips and two crossed daggers on the upper buttock of a copper-skinned woman with large gold earrings. Solas was sitting stiffly in a chair on the opposite side of the room, facing away from them.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s get this out.”

All of them looked at her, most of them grinning. All except Solas, who remained in his seat, unmoving.

“Is he a good kisser?” Dagna asked.

Mirevas blushed, thinking of the way his lips had felt on hers, how expertly he’d turned her into putty in his hands. “Yes.”

“Ooh,” said Leliana. “Judging by that reaction, he must be _very_ good.”

“You volunteered with him yesterday, right?” Dagna asked. “Did you meet him again this morning, or did you…”

“He met me here this morning,” Mirevas said firmly. “I wasn’t expecting him.”

“So you’re dating now?” Varric said. “You’re a couple?”

Were they a couple? Mirevas looked away, ears burning. “I don’t know. We have a date tomorrow. Dinner, sort of. A really late dinner after my shift.”

“How romantic,” Josie sighed. “He’s such a handsome man.”

“What are you going to wear?” asked Leliana.

“Oh, no, don’t start that again.” Honestly, did she look like someone who couldn’t pick out her own clothes? “A shirt. Jeans.”

“Hmm.” Leliana lifted her needle and cocked her head. “Maybe those leather pants.”

“Oh, come on. No. They’re not comfortable, and we’re not going clubbing.”

“But it should be something special,” Josie said. “Those black jeans with the laces up the sides.”

“Ooh, yes.” Leliana nodded.

That actually wasn’t a half bad suggestion.

“Then nothing overdone on top,” Josie went on. “But not too simple, either.”

Dagna cut in. “That black leather vest thing. You know, the tight one with the zipper up the front.”

Both Josie and Leliana looked at Dagna in admiration.

“Good choice,” Krem said.

Was there anyone who didn’t know Mirevas’s wardrobe better than she did? “All right, you guys win. I’ll wear what you want.”

“No,” Leliana said. “Wear what you want. It’ll be more personal that way. I’ve seen you and Blackwall together. He wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes off you even if you wore a burlap sack.”

Mirevas raised an eyebrow. “Now I know you’ve been going through my closet,” she said, deadpan.

Everyone chuckled.

Leliana’s client with the gold earrings lifted her head. “I have no idea who you are or who this man is,” she said, “but congratulations, sweetie. Make him drool.”

Mirevas smiled. “You know what? I will.”

\----------

“She kisses like a goddess, Sera. I never wanted to stop.”

“Got it bad, you have. Hehehehehehehe. How far did you get?”

“Hmm?”

“What base, Sherlock?”

“Oh. Second? Almost.”

“That’s _it_?”

“Well, she got to second. My shirt was off.”

“Ew, don’t make me think about that. But that’s something, anyway.”

“I’m seeing her tonight.”

“Good.”

“I can hardly believe I’m this fortunate.”

“Always so dramatic, you. I tell you what, if you don’t get laid tonight, I’m hitting you both over the head with something heavy.”

“...I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Don’t start that again. Just _tell_ her, Thom.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine. _Blackwall_. Tell her.”

“I know. I will.”

“Leave it to you to make everything complicated.”

“I’ll tell her. I’ll tell her tonight.”

“Good. Get that behind you, yeah? Then you two can move on.”

“Move on. Yeah. One way or the other.”

“Oi. So dismal, you.”

\----------

Mirevas pulled up in front of Blackwall’s building at 10:00. He was waiting outside for her, and her heart thumped at the sight of him.

His eyes met hers, and he smiled.

She expected him to get in the car, but he just walked up and rapped a knuckle on the window. Surprised, Mirevas lowered it.

“Come inside?”

Inside? Surely he wasn’t planning on having dinner in his little studio. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready yet. “Sure.”

When Blackwall headed for the elevator instead of the stairs, Mirevas got confused. And when he pressed the button for the top floor, she was completely befuddled.

“Aren’t you on the second floor?”

Blackwall smiled and said nothing.

The elevator doors opened, and Mirevas followed him to a door that said “Roof Access”. Blackwall looked around carefully, then slipped a key in the lock and opened it, gesturing for her to come through quickly. She followed obediently.

As the door shut behind them, the blackness of the stairwell pressed in on them. Blackwall spoke in a whisper. “Sera stole the key from a security guard when I first moved in. I never used it before today.”

She felt his hand brush hers and curled her fingers around it. Blackwall let out a little breath before leading her up the stairs.

They emerged onto the roof, and Mirevas gasped. Glittering candles surrounded a simple blanket laid out on the ground. Two wine glasses were set on the blanket next to a bottle of expensive-looking wine. The stars stretched out above them in the clear sky.

“Oh, Blackwall. This is beautiful.”

Blackwall’s smile radiated happiness. “I hoped you would like it.”

“You own wine glasses?”

“I do now.”

Mirevas laughed.

\----------

Dinner was Chinese takeout on paper plates, which was somehow the perfect touch to the evening. Mirevas and Blackwall sat under the stars amidst the candles, talking and laughing, so captivated by each other and their conversation that they forgot that the rest of the world existed.

At one point, Blackwall collapsed into a fit of giggles, which was pretty much the most adorable thing Mirevas had ever seen. “So you’re telling me you have a collection of awful t-shirts?”

Mirevas nodded, amused at his reaction. “Which I’ve been carefully avoiding wearing around you, yes. I do t-shirt surgery on them to make them cooler -- as if that’s possible -- and just try to hope people take them as ironic.”

Blackwall snorted with laughter. “And your dad does, too?”

“Well. Not the t-shirt surgery.”

Blackwall cracked up even more, and Mirevas couldn’t help laughing as well.

“But yes, he has them. Brian buys them for me, and I buy them for him. It’s become a challenge of sorts -- seeing who can buy the absolute worst t-shirt. Jeremy thinks we’re nuts.”

“And who usually wins?”

“We each think that the other one does. Mostly because we have to wear whatever god-awful shirt we’ve been given.”

Blackwall near crying with laughter, but he got out, “What’s the worst shirt you have?”

“It’s got a picture of two astronauts. One says, ‘Gesundheit’, and the other has something splattered on his visor.”

Blackwall doubled over, gasping, unable to speak.

“It’s not that funny!”

“I know!” he choked out.

And Mirevas broke out into uncontrollable giggles, too.

When they came down enough to talk again, Mirevas said, “Surely you’ve got some cute stories about your parents.”

To Mirevas’s surprise, Blackwall sobered immediately. “I -- I don’t talk to my parents.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“They don’t approve of my choices.”

“Oh.”

Shit. She shouldn’t have asked that. Blackwall’s entire body had gone tense. And somehow, she knew it was related to whatever secret he didn’t want to tell her.

He’d done something shameful in the past, that much was obvious. Something he was wracked with guilt over. And judging by his behavior, it was bad. It was something he thought she could never forgive him for.

Mirevas had already forgiven him.

She saw no point in worrying about the past. It was done, and it couldn’t be changed. The man he was now, the man she’d come to know, was kind and compassionate, strong and brave. If anyone deserved to be loved, it was him. Mirevas felt that somehow she’d been waiting for Blackwall her entire life.

Whatever his past, whatever his crime, she didn’t intend to give him up. She would hold on as tight as she could for as long as he would let her. Silly to think that after knowing him such a short time, but there it was.

Blackwall was looking at his hands, his face creased with pain, and her heart went out to him.

“My lady.” His voice cracked, and he took a deep breath. “I need to -- I -- I --”

He stopped. 

Mirevas watched him. Was this the moment? Was he going to tell her now?

His broad shoulders hunched, and his giant frame seemed to fold in on itself. “I can’t. I’m sorry, I --”

Not now, then. That was okay. 

He looked so miserable, so broken. She couldn’t stand to see him like that. To break the tension, Mirevas reached out and took his hand. Blackwall looked up, startled. In one quick decision, Mirevas scooted over and climbed into his lap, brushing her mouth lightly against his.

His lips parted slightly as he responded to the kiss. They moved slowly, sweetly. His lips were soft and slightly chapped, and his beard tickled her chin. His hand came up to touch her cheek oh so softly, and it sent a shiver through Mirevas. God, kissing him was intoxicating.

A short second later, their lips parted, and Blackwall gazed at her as if the stars shone from her eyes.

Mirevas made herself comfortable on his lap, grinning up at him to lighten the mood. “Now. Have I told you yet about the first time Jeremy took me to a gay bar?”

Blackwall blinked, and slowly began to chuckle. “No, my lady, I don’t believe you have.”

\----------

It was only their first date, and Blackwall already knew he never wanted to be without this woman.

Her laughter was musical, her smile glorious. The touch of her skin was warm and sensual. She curled up in his lap, resting her head against his shoulder, and Blackwall thought he might have found heaven.

When the food was done, and the conversation died out, Blackwall cleared his throat. “I -- I expect you’re tired.”

Mirevas sat up straight, looking him in the eye. “Yes. Yes, I am. Exhausted, actually.”

Disappointment flooded him. “I understand. I’m sure you want to get home. I’ll walk you down to your car.”

“Oh, no. I’m much too tired to drive.” She shrugged innocently and met his eyes. “I think I’d better just stay here tonight.”

Blackwall gaped at her. Had she just said…

Her confident expression faltered. “That is, if you want me to.”

Blackwall spoke quickly. “Yes! Yes, I want you to.”

And before she could change her mind, he captured her lips with his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T-shirt: http://www.snorgtees.com/t-shirts/space-sneeze


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attempt to recreate [the outfit Mirevas is wearing](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/set?id=169636303). She would have that vest zipped up higher, though.

There was no reason they should suddenly be awkward. They’d spent the whole night together, talking and laughing without a hint of awkwardness. But as Blackwall opened the door to his studio, Mirevas felt decidedly awkward. Neither of them was saying a word, and she suddenly had no idea what to do with her hands.

He opened the door and held it for her, clumsily gesturing for her to go inside.

She did -- and was faced once again with the problem of where to sit.

“Can I-- would you like a drink, my lady?”

Right. This was ridiculous. She was just going to go for it.

“No drink,” she said, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his neck.

Blackwall exhaled, his hands coming up to rest on her waist. “Have I told you that you have the most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen?”

From anyone else, she would have thought that was a cheesy come-on line. But Blackwall spoke with such sincerity, there was no way to mistake his honesty.

“Not yet,” Mirevas said.

“Sometimes I think they must see right through me.”

Mirevas stood on her tiptoes to get closer to him, and he bent his head to meet her, pressing his forehead against hers. “They like what they see,” she said softly.

Blackwall’s eyes clouded. “You need to know that I’m not worthy of you.”

“You’re wrong. You’re a good man.”

“Am I?”

She kissed him, just once, softly. “I see it.”

His hands slid down to rest on her hips, and he pulled her closer until she was pressed up hard against him. “I think you’ll regret this later.”

“Shut up and kiss me, Blackwall.”

He did.

\----------

Blackwall was dreaming. He had to be. It wasn’t possible that Mirevas was here, in his arms, passionate and enthusiastic. He’d never done anything in his life good enough to deserve her.

He was hyper-aware of every inch of her tiny, lithe body. Her breasts pressed against his chest. Her hips were soft yet firm beneath his hands. Her lips, Christ, her lips, they kissed him like she was desperate for him. And he was desperate for her.

One of her hands rested at by the back of his neck, holding him in place. The other slid from his waist down to his ass, pulling him tight against her.

Fuck. He pulled away, only to have her turn her kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He was losing all semblance of rational thought. Before he lost himself, he had to ask. “How much-- how far do you want to--”

“I want everything, Blackwall.” She stopped abruptly, pulling back to look at him. “Unless you don’t.”

“Christ, yes, I want it,” he said and claimed her lips again.

He was so hard for her already. Her lips were driving him crazy. He let one hand slide up her side, slowly, slowly, then cupped her breast in his palm.

Mirevas squeaked, then kissed him harder. 

Fucking hell. Squeaking was suddenly Blackwall’s favorite sound.

Mirevas seemed to be as hungry for him as he was for her. Her hands clutched at the cotton of his shirt, tugging at it as if she hoped to get it off without breaking their kiss.

Blackwall dragged his lips away and had the shirt off in seconds.

Immediately, her hands went to his chest, her fingers raking through his chest hair and sending a thrill through him. “God, I love this,” she said.

Any self-consciousness he might have had about his furry chest vanished in an instant. “You do?”

“Fuck, yes.”

Blackwall slid his fingers under the bottom of her leather top. “Can I?”

In response, Mirevas reached for the zipper in front and yanked it down. The little vest fell away, revealing large, luscious breasts in a lacy black bra.

“Fucking hell.” She was beautiful. Everything about her was beautiful. Her tits were the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.

He reached for them with both hands, massaging them, running his thumbs over her nipples. They were perfect. Mirevas’s head fell back with a groan.

He hated to pull his hand away even for an instant, but it was necessary. This lace thing was pretty, but her breasts were far prettier, and he had to see them. One hand slid around her body, and with a quick, deft movement born of years of practice, he had her bra unhooked.

Mirevas gasped. “You’re not messing around.”

No, no, he wasn’t. Not with her finally in his arms, his for the taking. His blood was pounding. He couldn’t stand to waste an instant.

Mirevas didn’t seem to be wasting time either. She pressed kiss after kiss to his chest. Without missing a beat, she pushed him backwards until his legs hit the bed. He sat down hard, and she climbed into his lap.

Oh, this was glorious. Her tits were right in his face. Blackwall pressed his lips to one hard peak, then sucked it into his mouth.

Mirevas squeaked again. Fuck, that sound was incredible. How had he never known how goddamn hot squeaking was? He laved her nipple with his tongue, then gently scraped his teeth across it. Mirevas grabbed him by the hair, holding his head in place. Her breath came in sharp pants.

He couldn’t wait. Christ, he couldn’t wait. His cock was so hard. His fingers fumbled with the button of her jeans, but with his face pressed against her perfect breast, he couldn’t see what he was doing.

Mirevas released his head, and together they scrambled to get her jeans off, and then went to work on his. In mere moments they were naked, and Blackwall pulled Mirevas down on the bed, rolling on top of her.

She was so beautiful, all smooth brown skin and soft curves pressed against him. Blackwall felt suddenly self-conscious of his own body. He was so much older than her. She liked his chest hair, but she couldn’t like the little gut he never could manage to get rid of. 

He had stopped moving, and Mirevas stilled beneath him. “Blackwall?”

“Do you really want this?”

She blinked. “Am I not making that obvious?”

“I’m not -- I’m much older than you, my lady.”

“Mmm.” Mirevas ran her hands over his chest. “I know. It’s sexy as hell.”

Blackwall’s cock jerked at the words. “You’re sure?”

“Fucking positive.”

With a groan, Blackwall kissed her again, his hands running up and down her body. Mirevas moaned beneath him, her hips thrusting up as if of their own accord.

He needed to be inside her. He needed to be inside her _now_.

_No._

Blackwall pulled back.

“What now?” Mirevas’s voice had an almost dangerous edge.

“I--I need to do something.”

“What?”

Blackwall reached down to touch her wet cunt. “This.”

Mirevas’s body jerked, and she threw her head back.

Yes, that was what he needed. His finger parted her folds, slipping between them to find her clit. 

Mirevas let out a long moan. Her hands clutched at the blanket beneath her as he rubbed gentle circles on her sensitive nub.

“You can’t do this to me,” Mirevas’s body was so tense. “I need you inside me.”

Immediately, Blackwall removed his hand.

“I changed my mind!” she cried desperately. “Don’t stop!”

With a chuckle, Blackwall lowered his face to her beautiful cunt.

He didn’t tease. He attacked her clit with everything he had, licking and sucking. Beneath him, Mirevas’s body shook. Her hips thrust upward, and he held them in place with his hands so as not to be accidentally dislodged.

“Blackwall, oh, Blackwall.”

He sucked her clit into his mouth and flicked the tip with his tongue.

“Fuck, I’m going to -- I’m going to --”

_Yes,_ thought Blackwall. _Please, come for me._

As if she’d heard him, her body convulsed under his hands. Her back arched, her hands scrambling for purchase on the bed, tremors wracking her body. Blackwall kept going, letting her ride out the waves, which seemed to last forever.

Finally, finally, she came down, pushing his head away. Blackwall gave a small laugh. “That was good?”

She exhaled. “That was amazing.”

“One of my favorite things to do.”

She laughed. “Good thing for me I plan on keeping you around, then.”

Blackwall’s heart leapt. “Even better for me, I think.”

Mirevas sat up, and Blackwall did, too. “I think I can guess another favorite thing of yours.”

Blackwall’s cock was throbbing. “I think I can tell you.”

There was an evil twinkle in her eye. “Would it be for me to return the favor?”

_Oh, god, yes. Wait, no, no._

“No. I mean, yes, Christ, that’s one of my favorite things, but please, not now. I need-- I need--”

Mirevas smiled. “Me, too.”

Blackwall tried to lower her back down on the bed beneath him, but she resisted. “Wait,” she said. “Is it okay if we…?”

She gently pushed his shoulder, and he lay back, following her lead. Mirevas smiled, climbing on top of him.

“Thank you,” she said. “It’s easier for me this way. You know, to -- finish.”

“You can again?”

Her eyes raked over his body, and she bit her lip. “Yes.”

She was multiorgasmic, too. He was the luckiest man in the world.

Blackwall reached for his bedside table, opening the small drawer and fumbling for the condoms he’d bought just that day, grasping one between his fingers. He didn’t want to wait any more.

Mirevas took the condom from his hand and opened it carefully with her teeth. Slowly, she slid the condom down over his cock. He couldn’t stop himself from thrusting up into her hands, and she gave him a mischievous smile.

This was not good. He wasn’t going to last long at all.

When he was fully sheathed, Mirevas raised herself over him. There she paused, looking down at his body with raw desire in her eyes, sending a wave of heat through him.

“Mirevas, please…”

She bit her lip again. With one hand on his cock, she lowered herself onto him.

Blackwall was sure he’d found heaven.

He’d never felt anything this good in his entire life. Her cunt was so hot, so tight around him. The sight of her body above him, so tiny and so luscious, made his heart pound in his chest. He could scarcely believe this was real.

Then she started moving on top of him, and he lost all capability for rational thought. There was only Mirevas, her soft skin, her gorgeous breasts bouncing as she moved, her gasps and moans and god, yes, those little squeaks. He was going to come. He couldn’t stop it.

“Mirevas. I’m going to--”

Mirevas’s eyes squeezed shut, and she shuddered above him, crying out. That was it. Blackwall’s release hit him hard, his cock pulsing with waves of pleasure that shot through his entire body. She kept moving above him, still gasping, prolonging his orgasm, wracking his body with ecstasy.

By the time she stopped moving and collapsed on top of him, Blackwall was sure she’d wrung him completely dry.

He lay beneath her, her body enveloping his, and he wished he would never have to move. He wanted to stay right here inside her forever.

“That was wonderful,” Mirevas murmured, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

“I think that’s an understatement.”

“I think you’re right.”

His cock was slowly shrinking within her, and with a groan, Mirevas rolled over so he could take the condom off. He handed her the towel he’d left so hopefully by the condoms, and when they had both cleaned up, she curled herself against his side, her fingers playing gently with his chest hair.

“My lady.” Blackwall put his arms around her, holding her close, reveling in the feel of her in his arms. “You are the most amazing thing ever to happen to me.”

Mirevas was silent for a moment, and Blackwall feared he’d said the wrong thing. Then she kissed his shoulder. When she spoke, her voice was muffled against his skin. “I’m going to fall in love with you,” she said.

Blackwall’s heart stopped beating.

She nuzzled her face against him and pulled herself closer. “I hope that’s okay.”

Okay could never be the word to describe what he felt right now. Ecstatic, euphoric, rapturous, those were words that fit. The thought came to him unbidden. _I’m already in love with you._

It was too much to say now. Too much for a first date, even a first date that ended in mind-blowing sex. He didn’t want to scare her away.

“You’d better.” His voice cracked. “I’m pretty sure you’ll break my heart if you don’t.”

Mirevas shifted, moving to wrap her arm around his waist. “I never want to break your heart.”

His heart would break, though. It was inevitable once she found out the truth. He would have to tell her, and soon. He should tell her now.

And then she would leave, gone from his life forever.

He had to do it. He should have done it long ago.

“Mirevas.”

She lifted herself up on one arm, suddenly concerned. “What is it? You’ve gone all tense.”

Oh, god. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t. He’d found heaven in her arms, and he wasn’t strong enough to give it up.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

He’d come to Chicago to become a new man. To be Blackwall and leave Thom Rainier behind. Did he have to drag the man back here, now? Was it so wrong to be happy, to bring Mirevas happiness, too?

It would hurt her if he told her now. Was hurting her really the right thing to do?

It wouldn’t last. Even without his secret, he could never be enough to keep this beautiful, strong, passionate, talented, extraordinary woman. Let them have what little joy they could before it all fell apart.

That had to be the right thing, didn’t it?

He almost convinced himself that it was.

“Blackwall.”

Mirevas’s voice jolted him back into the moment. Her brow was creased with worry.

“You’re not about to kick me out or something, are you?”

The fear in her voice hit him right in the heart. “Never,” he said, drawing her close again. “I’ll never let you go.”

He could feel Mirevas smile against his chest. “Good.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter this time, and another to follow soon.

There was a gun in Blackwall’s hand. His old Glock 22. He didn’t know how it got there. Horrified, Blackwall dropped it. It hit the ground with a clatter and skidded away into the shadows.

As soon as he lost sight of it, he felt a weight in his hand. With dread in his heart, he looked down. His fingers were clasping the gun again.

“No.”

Blackwall’s head jerked up at the voice. Vincent Callier was on his knees in front of him, holding his hands up defensively, a terrified expression on his face.

“Please, please, don’t. I’ll do anything.”

Of its own volition, Blackwall’s hand moved up.

Tears streamed down Callier’s face. “I have a family. Please.”

“Don’t kill him!”

Two children appeared behind Callier, both crying. “He’s our daddy. We need him.”

 _I’m not going to kill him._ Blackwall tried to say the words, but he couldn’t make his mouth work.

His feet stepped forward. He couldn’t stop them. The gun pointed at Callier’s head. He fought so hard to lower his hand. He wasn’t going to do this. He wasn’t a murderer.

“Yes, you are.”

Blackwall’s eyes jerked to Callier in surprise.

“You are a murderer.” Callier was no longer crying. His face burned with anger and hatred. “You’ll kill me. I’ll die before my time. And then you’ll be a monster. You’ll never be loved again. Your parents will disown you. Your friends will abandon you. You’ll spend the rest of your life alone.” Callier laughed, a sharp, cruel sound. “How could anyone love a repulsive fiend like you?”

Blackwall fought with everything in him to drop the gun. _It doesn’t have to happen. Drop it. Drop it!_

He felt his finger squeeze the trigger, and with a deafening bang, Callier’s head exploded.

\----------

Blackwall opened his eyes, gasping. Sun was streaming through the window.  
It was all right. It wasn’t real. It hadn’t happened.

No. No, it had happened. Maybe not like that, but it had happened. And it wasn’t all right.

Blackwall sat up, running a hand over his face. Then he felt a hand on his arm, and he jumped.

Mirevas was blinking up at him sleepily.

“Are you okay?”

Mirevas. Memories of the night before came flooding back to him. Mirevas was here with him. They’d spent a wonderful night together, had the best sex of his life, and she was still here, naked in his bed, right by his side.

She hadn’t left. She wasn’t leaving. Slowly, the fear and pain of the nightmare left him, replaced by the comfort of her presence.

Blackwall let out a breath. “I’m okay.”

Mirevas sat up, put both arms around his neck, and tugged him down next to her. He put his arms around her waist, and they lay there, face to face. He looked into her startlingly beautiful brown eyes and was struck by the impossibility of this moment, this happiness.

“Are you really here?” he asked her.

She raised an eyebrow. “If I’m not, this is the best dream I’ve ever had.”

Blackwall couldn’t help it. He had to kiss her. He gathered her close and touched his lips to hers.

Mirevas made a sound of appreciation in the back of her throat. The kiss was light and sweet, and when they broke it, she sighed. “You’re really good at that.”

“At what?”

“Kissing.”

He chuckled, his chest swelling with pride.“The feeling is mutual, my lady.”

Mirevas moved a hand from his neck to slide it down his back. “Blackwall?”

“Yes?”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Call you what? My lady?”

She nodded.

Wasn’t it obvious? “Because you are a lady, and you should be treated like one.”

“I’m a punk covered in tattoos.”

“Mmm.” He reached up to her face and let his fingers gently trace the tattooed lines there. “A beautiful lady.”

Mirevas closed her eyes. “Thank you.”

“I only speak the truth.”

“Well.” She opened her eyes shyly. “You may be the only person to see this particular truth. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like the way I look. But ‘lady’ is not the sentiment I usually get.”

Blackwall kissed her again, just a chaste peck on the lips. “There are a lot of fools in this world.”

With a smile of satisfaction, Mirevas caught the back of his head with one hand and held him in place, capturing his lips before he could pull away. Her other hand slid from his back down to his ass, drawing him closer.

“My lady,” he murmured against her lips, “don’t start anything you don’t intend to finish.”

In response, she threw one leg over him and pressed her breasts against his chest.

He gave a low laugh. “As my lady wishes, then.”

\----------

When Mirevas walked into INKquisition in the same clothes she’d worn the day before, everyone stopped to stare at her.

“Ooh!” Dagna exclaimed. “It happened, didn’t it? Tell us, tell us!”

Mirevas grinned and ducked her head.

Smiles broke out among her coworkers. Dagna all but jumped up and down.

Mirevas couldn’t help noticing as she walked back to her office that Solas was frowning. When she caught his eye, he looked away.


	16. Chapter 16

“So you’re telling me you’re afraid of needles?”

They sat in the waiting room of the free clinic, awaiting their names to be called for their precautionary STI testing (because if they were going to have sex, they were going to be safe about it). Blackwall’s cheeks turned red, and Mirevas didn’t bother to hold back her grin at this new discovery. “Just medical needles," he said. "And I'm not afraid. I just don’t like them.”

“And the last time you had blood drawn, you passed out.”

His brow furrowed. “I don’t like being jabbed with long, sharp, pointy things.”

“Are you going to pass out today?”

Blackwall looked toward the door to the back of the clinic. “I don’t think so.”

“Will it help if I hold your hand?” Mirevas asked sincerely.

He turned his eyes back towards her, and they softened. “I think it might, actually.”

He was utterly adorable. Mirevas looked around the clinic’s waiting room at the bored, waiting patients, then determined that she didn’t care what any of them thought. She rose from her seat and plopped herself down on Blackwall’s lap. He responded with a small “oomph” and wrapped his arms around her waist.

The door opened, and a young woman in scrubs stepped out. “Blackwall?”

At the same moment, another young nurse poked her head through. “Mir -- Mira -- Mireva?”

No one ever got it right. Mirevas took pity on the struggling woman. “It’s Mirevas.”

“Oh, what a pretty name!”

“Thank you.”

They followed the women through the door and down a hallway. There, the nurses led them to different doors.

Oh, no. “Can we go in together?” Mirevas asked.

The two nurses looked at each other with raised eyebrows. “That’s so cute!” one said.

The other grinned. “I don’t see why not.”

Mirevas took Blackwall by the hand. “Thank you.”

It quickly became obvious that Blackwall really _was_ scared. As they sat in the clinic room, answering the nurses’ questions, Blackwall’s face was completely white. Mirevas stifled her amusement. This giant bear of a man was afraid of needles.

Just when Mirevas thought she couldn’t be more crazy about him, she learned something new to make her love him even more.

Love him? Was that what she felt?

Surely it was too early in their relationship to use a word like love. It couldn’t be more than infatuation. Could it?

“Are you sexually active?” a nurse asked.

Mirevas looked at Blackwall, warmth swelling in her chest. “We are now.”

Both nurses awwed.

When one came toward Blackwall with a syringe, he gripped Mirevas’s hand so hard she was almost afraid he’d leave bruises. Mirevas put her other hand on top of his. “Breathe,” she said softly.

He took a deep breath, staring straight ahead.

“Oh.” Realization dawned on the nurse’s face. “Are you afraid of needles?”

Blackwall exhaled. “I’m fine.”

With a sympathetic look, the nurse prepped his arm. “You’ll just feel a little pinch.”

Blackwall gritted his teeth

The poor man. Mirevas searched for a distraction. “Did I ever tell you about my cousin Sulevin?”

He blinked. “No.”

“She’s my blood cousin. Related to me through my mom, not my adoptive dads. She grew up on the reservation. Anyway, she keeps coming into the shop to get a tattoo from me. Something from our Lakota heritage.”

The nurse slipped the needle into Blackwall’s arm, and he jerked.

Mirevas put a hand on his cheek, turning his face towards her. “Every few months she thinks she has it figured out. She comes in with an idea, and I draw out a sketch. We get all the way to the chair, transfer applied, tattoo machine on, ready to go. Then Solas comes over.”

Blackwall whispered, “What does Solas do?”

“Talks her out of it. Every time.”

His brow creased. “Why?”

“Hell if I know. I don’t think he means to. But he always has something to say about her choice of tattoo, and it’s always critical. I think in his mind, he’s just discussing culture. History. It’s a distant topic, like a myth. But to Sulevin, it’s something more. A part of herself.”

Blackwall looked at the ceiling.

“I swear, next time Sulevin comes in, I’m not letting Solas anywhere near her. Anywhere near the shop. He can go take a vacation or something. That woman is never going to pick something with him around.”

He actually chuckled.

The nurse removed the syringe. “All done.”

Blackwall let out a groan of relief. An instant later, his head was between his knees.

Mirevas stroked his back. “Just breathe, sweetheart. You’ll be okay.”

He took one deep breath, then another. “I’m all right,” he said.

The other nurse approached Mirevas. “Now it’s your turn.”

Blackwall made a noise and took another deep breath.

“Don’t look, sweetheart.”

He nodded slightly, not moving from his bent over position.

Mirevas picked up her story again. “I have a tattoo to represent my culture. On my leg, you remember that one? It’s writing in the Lakota language. It says ‘Generosity, Courage, Respect, Wisdom.’ And I don’t care what Solas says about it, it’s my favorite one.”

\----------

By the time they left the clinic, Blackwall had regained his color, and he’d gotten through the entire ordeal without passing out once.

“I’m proud of you,” Mirevas said as they walked.

Blackwall’s ears turned red. “Yes, I’m sure I was very impressive.”

“You were very sweet.”

Blackwall grunted and looked away.

Mirevas touched his arm. “I’m afraid of spiders.”

He turned to her in surprise. “You are?”

“Eugh.” She shuddered. “Nasty things. How do you know which ones are dangerous and which ones aren’t?”

“There aren’t many poisonous spiders in Chicago.”

“Even worse. Then you take them for granted, and one of them gets you in your sleep or something.”

Blackwall laughed.

“I have nightmares about the things. Giant spiders attacking me. Eugh. No thank you.”

“Well.” Blackwall stepped in front of her and made a bow. “If you ever need a spider taken care of, I am at your disposal, my lady.”

“You’ll regret that when I’m calling you at 3:00 am to come over and kill a spider for me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I have no problem coming over to your apartment any time of the night.”

Mirevas grinned and held out her arm palm up, displaying her band-aid as though it were a badge of pride. “And as soon as we get the results back, our middle of the night activities will get even better.”

“Better than killing spiders?”

She swatted his arm. “You know what I mean.”

“I think I do, but I wouldn’t mind hearing you say it.”

“At the moment, I’m thinking about doing something else.” She grabbed his arm and resumed walking. “Come on. We’re getting a treat.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Right now?”

“Not that. I’m taking you for ice cream.”

“Ice cream?”

“Isn’t that the thing to do after you get stuck with a needle?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well. I have a taste for some chocolate fudge. What about you?”

“I...think I could go for a scoop of black cherry.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: [Criminal by Britney Spears](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ldCPlMwQbQ)

“My lady?”

“Blackwall! Did you get your call?”

“Just ten minutes ago.”

“I just got off the phone from mine. I’m clean.”

“As am I.”

“Yes! Shall I come over now?”

“Now? I’m at work.”

A sigh. “So am I. Later, then. You can come to my place. What time will you get off?”

“Judging by the nature of this conversation, I’d say right after work.”

“Oh, ha ha. Very funny.”

“But am I wrong?”

“Nope.”

\----------

Mirevas was nervous. Blackwall had never been to her place before, and her second floor apartment was a far cry from his bare studio. The architecture in her homey two unit building was much nicer than his building, for example, having the high ceilings and pretty arches common in older Chicago homes. Her walls were a mish-mash of of music posters and medieval decor -- wrought iron candle holders, heraldic banners, long black drapes. Her furniture was eclectic, having been collected from various thrift stores when she moved to Chicago.

Okay, she wasn’t worried about all of that. But the clutter -- that worried her. She could never seem to keep the books from piling up on her coffee table or remember to put away her sketchbooks when she was done with them.

As soon as she got home, around 6 pm, she ran through the apartment, grabbing whatever she could and stuffing it out of sight. But she only had a few minutes before her doorbell rang.

Mirevas ran down the stairs to the front door to let Blackwall in.

When she saw him, her heart skipped a beat. He stood on her doorstep in grease-stained jeans and t-shirt, hair pulled back in a tiny bun, and holding a long-stemmed red rose.

He saw her and his face lit up. Mirevas knew she was beaming, too.

“I’m sorry about --” He gestured to his clothing. “I came here straight from work.”

“I’m glad you did. I wanted to see you.”

Blackwall held out the flower. “This is for you.”

“Thank you.” Mirevas felt warm all over as she took it. She didn’t know why she was suddenly shy. Blackwall had that effect on her. One minute she was confident and in control, the next her stomach was tied in knots.

No, she knew what made her nervous. It was his gentlemanly manner, the way he treated her. _My lady_ , he called her, and he behaved as if she were. No man she’d been with had ever made her feel so important, so special.

Blackwall shifted his weight. “I hope it’s all right. Should I have gotten a bouquet?”

“Oh! No!” Christ, she’d just been standing there staring at him. “It’s beautiful. No one has ever given me a rose before.”

His brow furrowed. “That can’t be true.”

She nodded, feeling silly for the admission -- and embarrassed at being the kind of girl men didn’t buy roses for. “My dads gave me flowers on special occasions. But they were always daisies.”

“Oh.” Blackwall ducked his head. “I suppose I’m old-fashioned. Roses aren’t very creative, are they?”

“No! Blackwall, this is perfect. It’s -- it’s the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”

His face relaxed into a smile then, and he reached for her waist, pulling her closer. “Well, then, my lady, I have a lot of ground to make up for.”

A thrill went through her, and she leaned in, standing on her tiptoes and tilting her head up. He kissed her, one chaste but lingering kiss that sent shivers down her spine. Would she never get used to this man?

He looked down at her with eyes full of emotion, and Mirevas thought that no, she never would.

“Come upstairs?” she whispered.

“I’d be honored, my lady.”

Mirevas pulled away to take him by the hand and drag him up the stairs as fast as she could.

\----------

She didn’t have a vase, so she put the rose in an old glass Coke bottle. “I’m sorry about the mess.”

“I like it. It’s comfortable.” Blackwall picked up a book lying open on the kitchen table, then grinned. “Arthurian legends?”

She shrugged playfully. “You got me thinking about them again. Shall I give you the tour?”

“Certainly.”

Mirevas took his hand and pulled him through the house. “This is the kitchen, here’s my living room, the office is through there, and, oh, look. It’s my bedroom.”

Blackwall laughed, pulling her into his arms again. “You have a one-track mind, my lady.”

“Only when it comes to you.”

He bent over to kiss her, and she sighed against his lips. Everything about this man just felt so right. Like they were meant to be together.

Blackwall drew back, a mischievous sparkle in his eye. “So you just want me for my body?”

Mirevas blinked innocently. “Who wouldn’t?”

At that, he laughed, long and hard. Mirevas grinned and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“I kid, of course,” she told him. “I have far more uses for you than just what we can do in bed.”

“That’s right.” Blackwall tilted his head. “You want me to kill spiders for you, too.”

“Absolutely.”

“I shall try not to disappoint.”

\----------

The first time they’d made love, it was fast, hot, desperate. This time was the opposite. They went slow, savoring every moment they were together. Every touch was light, every move was gentle. The skin on skin contact added an intimacy she hadn’t been prepared for, and Blackwall treated her with a reverence that went straight to her heart. She’d never known it could be like this, never known anyone could make her feel so precious.

When her orgasm hit her, she felt like the heavens had opened up for her. Blackwall followed a minute later.

Everything about Blackwall kept getting better. Mirevas felt almost afraid. She’d never had so much to lose.

When they’d cleaned up, Mirevas pressed herself against his side. He pulled her head against his chest, kissing the top of her head, and traced the length of her arm lightly with his fingertips, up and down, causing the hairs on her arm to stand up.

“I love you.” The words spilled from her mouth.

Blackwall went still.

Shit, shit, shit. “I’m sorry. It’s probably too early to say that, right? Forget I said anything.”

Blackwall moved his hand to her chin, tilting it upward, and met her eyes with a look that sent lightning shooting through her. “I’ve been in love with you for ages.”

Mirevas’s heart stopped beating.

He kissed her again, a slow, sweet kiss that made her melt into the bed. She could never get enough of this man.

“But I’m not good enough for you. I can never deserve you.”

“You make me so happy.”

Blackwall sighed, resting his forehead against hers. “That’s all I want in the world.”

\----------

They ordered pizza after that and ate it in the living room, watching the Hobbit movies and laughing at the way Thorin’s hair was always blowing in the breeze. He looked like he was in a commercial for hair products. Mirevas sat in Blackwall’s lap and was more comfortable than she’d ever been in her life.

They passed out there on the couch. When Mirevas awoke a few hours later to the menu screen of the DVD, she shook Blackwall awake and led him to the bedroom, where they both slept soundly through the night.

\----------

“Hello? Jeremy?”

“Mirevas!” Jeremy’s melodic tone always brought a smile to her face. “How are you, sweetie? Brian, it’s Mirevas!”

Mirevas held the phone between her cheek and shoulder, fiddling with the silver rings on her fingers. “I’m good, Dad. I’m really good.”

“Really?” Jeremy’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Have you got a boyfriend?”

“How did you know?!”

“Please! It’s in your voice, sweetie. Hey, Brian, Mirevas has a boyfriend!”

“Give her a break, Jeremy,” came Brian’s weary voice.

“I’m putting you on speakerphone, sweetheart. We want details.”

A moment later, Brian said, “Hi there, dear. How are you doing?”

Mirevas smiled. “I’m really good, Dad.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Brian was always more uncomfortable with phone conversations, and Mirevas was amused by his simple, to-the-point language. “There’s a boyfriend?”

Mirevas laughed nervously. “Yes. Brian, Jeremy -- I’m in love.”

“Oh, Mirevas,” Jeremy trilled, “I’m so happy to hear it.”

“You’re not getting married or something, are you?” asked Brian.

“Brian! No!”

“Well, it’s a legitimate question.” Brian sounded slightly defensive. “I’ve never heard you talk this way before. I’m happy for you.”

“Who is he and what is he like?” Jeremy wasn’t even trying to hold back his excitement.

Mirevas grinned. “His name is Blackwall.”

“Ooh, _Blackwall_?” Jeremy asked. “Is that a first name or a last name?”

“It’s -- it’s --”

A pause. “You don’t know, sweetie?” Mirevas could hear the sudden caution in Jeremy’s voice.

“It’s a nickname,” Mirevas said firmly, then went on quickly. “He’s tall and burly and he has a beard. And he’s handsome. He’s so handsome.”

“And what is he like?” Brian asked.

“He’s just like me. We like all the same things. It’s like we share a brain sometimes.”

“We couldn’t ask for anything better for you,” Jeremy said.

“What does he do?” Brian wanted to know.

“He’s a mechanic. And --” Mirevas hesitated. They would find out when they met him; there was no point keeping secrets. “He’s a little older than me.”

A very short pause. Then Jeremy asked, “How much older, sweetie?”

Mirevas took a breath. “Twenty years.”

Silence.

“Well? Say something.”

“That’s nearly twice your age, dear,” Brian said.

Mirevas would have rolled her eyes if she wasn’t so nervous about their opinion. “I can do basic math, Dad.”

“Has he ever been married?” Brian pressed.

Mirevas faltered. “I--”

“You don’t know his real name, and you don’t know if he’s been married?” The waves of disapproval were radiating through the phone connection.

“Brian,” Jeremy chided, but his voice had softened from his usual jubilant tones, a sure sign that he wasn’t happy, either.

Brian ignored his admonishment. “These are things she should know, don’t you think?”

Mirevas bit her lip. “He doesn’t like to talk about his past.”

Brian sighed. “That’s not a good sign, dear.”

Mirevas started to feel irrationally angry. “He does volunteer work on all his days off. Giving to communities that need help. Sometimes I go with him.”

“That’s good,” Jeremy said, but Mirevas could tell he was forcing himself to be supportive.

“And he treats me better than I ever thought possible. He makes me happy.”

Another silence. Then Jeremy broke it. “That’s all we want for you, sweetie.”

“Just--” Brian stopped, then started again. “Just be careful, dear, okay?”

“I am,” Mirevas said firmly.

She turned the subject to Jeremy’s most recent art show, and the topic of Blackwall was dropped. Still, when Mirevas hung up the phone at the end of the conversation, she couldn’t help feeling a little unsettled.


	18. Chapter 18

Something was coming, and it was going to be bad.

Mirevas didn’t know why this change had come on so suddenly. Everything had been fine the night before. Well, there had been a small argument about his tattoo. Blackwall still wanted to pay for it, but Mirevas refused to let him. She would not take her boyfriend’s money. The way his face lit up at the word “boyfriend” made the whole argument worth it.

But that was the night before. Now they were in the shop, and Mirevas was preparing her tattoo machine. Blackwall wouldn’t meet her eyes, and the way he hunched in on himself as he sat in the tattoo chair told her something was very wrong.

Ice cold dread filled her stomach. Was he leaving her? Was that it?

She didn’t know what to do, what to say, so she tried to make light of it. “I hope you’re not getting squeamish about tattoo needles now,” she teased.

She only got half a smile in response. “I told you, it’s just doctor needles that bother me.”

“Well, that’s good. Otherwise you’d be stuck with an unfinished tattoo for the rest of your life.”

She grinned mischievously. Blackwall smiled back mechanically, a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

A chill went down Mirevas’s spine. This was really bad. He _was_ leaving.

“Blackwall,” she said softly. “What is it?”

He met her eyes. Then he took a deep breath, as if steeling himself against a blow.

“Thom Rainier.” His voice cracked on the last syllable.

Mirevas blinked. “What?”

“My name.” He spoke so quietly now that she had to strain to hear him. “It’s Thom Rainier.”

Wait. His name?

This wasn’t bad. This was the opposite of bad. 

He was opening up to her.

Relief swept through her. Her parents were wrong to be so worried about him. She’d known they were, but still. Here was the proof.

“It’s a nice name,” Mirevas said encouragingly.

Blackwall shook his head. “No. It isn’t. You can --” his voice shook, but he pressed on. “You can google it. Then… then you’ll know.”

Google it. Understanding washed over her. He wasn’t just offering a name. 

He was offering her his secret.

Well. Sort of. He was giving her the key to find it out herself. He still wasn’t able to tell her… whatever it was. Not in his own words.

She thought about it. Her phone was in her pocket. She could pull it out right now, enter two words, and know whatever deep, dark secret Blackwall wasn’t able to say out loud.

But really -- she didn’t want to be told by Google.

“No,” she said.

Blackwall blinked. “What?”

Mirevas shook her head. “I’m not going to google you.”

His brow creased with worry. “But--”

The look on his face filled her with sympathy. He was trying so hard, and she loved him for it. Impulsively, Mirevas reached out and took his hand. “Sooner or later, Blackwall, you are going to figure out that you can trust me. And when you’re ready, you can tell me yourself.”

Blackwall stared at her wide-eyed.

“I’m not going to find out your past from a computer screen.” The idea of it was so cold, so impersonal. “So, no. I’ll wait for you to tell me.”

“I--I--”

Mirevas put another hand over his. “It doesn’t have to be now. When you’re ready.”

Blackwall’s shoulders slumped, his head falling forward. “I don’t know that I’ll ever be strong enough.”

“You will,” Mirevas said, knowing with complete confidence that it was true. “And I’ll wait.”

He reached for her, and Mirevas released his hands, sliding onto his lap so she could put her arms around him. Thom Rainier. She turned the syllables over and over in her head. They didn’t sound right, didn’t fit the man she could think of only as Blackwall. But that didn’t matter. He’d trusted her with his name.

It was only a matter of time before she found out the whole truth. And Mirevas would give him whatever time he needed.

\------------

The days passed for Blackwall in a haze of bliss. Nearly every night was spent at Mirevas’s place, and the nights he was alone were agonizingly empty. He felt as though he’d been wrapped up in a blanket of her love, and nothing could touch him when she was around.

Three months went by like that, and he fell more in love every day he was with her. Wasn’t infatuation supposed to fade as time went on? This only seemed to be getting deeper. He got to know her little flaws -- the way she could never keep her apartment uncluttered, or how she sometimes refused to stand up for herself out of a misplaced sense of kindness --but those things only made him love her more. She wasn’t perfect after all, but each imperfection made her more real to him -- an actual human being rather than a dream that might vanish from his arms in the night. And he was happier than he ever thought possible with the reality of her.

As time went on, he began to let little details of his past out. He told her about his privileged childhood in Ann Arbor and what an arrogant ass he’d been. He told her how alone he’d been for years, how he’d been abandoned by everyone he cared about, and how empty his life was before her. Most of these conversations were not very pleasant.

“Were you ever married?” Mirevas asked one day.

They were curled up on her sofa, Mirevas leaning back against him, his arms around her and Iron Butterfly singing incoherently about the garden of Eden in the background.

“No, of course not,” Blackwall answered immediately, and then realized that his “of course not” was hardly earned. Mirevas had no reason to assume he hadn’t been.

“Did you have any serious relationships before me?”

Blackwall shook his head, ashamed of his answer. “When I was younger, there were a lot of women. Too many. But I never got attached. I--” Honesty. He needed to be honest. “I used them. I wanted sex, and I left when I got bored. I never made promises, I tried to be up front about it, but that doesn’t really matter. I took what I wanted from them, and then I left.”

In his arms, Mirevas went still.

“Once or twice, there was a woman I wanted more with. But they wouldn’t have me. And rightly so.”

“Are you using me?”

“No,” he said fervently. He couldn’t stand for her to think it even for a minute. “Mirevas, no. I would do anything for you. The man that did those things -- I never want to be him again.”

Mirevas tilted her head back to look at him, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. His beautiful lady.

“What about after that? When you weren’t so young anymore?”

“I -- no.” Christ, this was hard to say. “Sometimes I wished -- but no. Nobody who knew me would want me, and I wouldn’t inflict myself on anyone else.”

“You’d inflict yourself on me?”

He flinched. That was exactly what he was doing, and he shouldn’t be. “I tried not to. I warned you I wasn’t good enough. I keep warning you, but you don’t listen. Mirevas, I can’t ever--”

“--deserve me, yes, so you’ve said.” 

“It’s true.”

Mirevas paused, then said, “I’m probably a fool for trusting you, aren’t I?”

Blackwall’s breath hitched, and his heart stopped beating. This was it. He’d finally done it. He’d said enough to scare her away.

Oh, god.

She twisted in his arms and climbed onto his lap, straddling him. Her piercing eyes looked straight into his. “But I know you,” she said. “I know who you are now. You’re a better man than any I’ve ever known. And I think -- if it weren’t for your past, for your mistakes, you wouldn’t be the man you are today. The man I love.”

Was that true? Was it really how she saw him? Could he truly be a better person now, not only in spite of his awful past, but because of it? It seemed impossible, but -- Mirevas believed it. And he trusted her opinion more than anyone else’s. Certainly more than his own.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, and warmth spread through him at the contact. “So enough about what you deserve. What do I deserve? I deserve to be happy, don’t I?”

His response was immediate. “Yes, of course.”

“Do you want to make me happy?”

He could barely speak above a whisper. “I want that more than anything.”

“Then you’ll just have to stick around,” she said, resting her forehead against his. “Because I love you. No matter how many women there have been before me. I can’t imagine my life without you. I don’t know how I got by before I knew you, but I’m certain I couldn’t do it now.”

Blackwall couldn’t answer. He knew she was wrong. She couldn’t love him once she knew what he’d done. It was only a matter of time before she left him and he was empty and alone again. But Christ, he loved her above anything else in the world. It would kill him when she was gone.

She kissed him, and he lost himself in her lips.

\----------

He wanted to marry her.

It was too soon to think about marriage. They’d only been together for a handful of months, and anyway, she was certain to leave him when she learned the truth. But it didn’t matter. Blackwall knew what he wanted, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He’d never felt this way about a woman before, and he never would again.

He hadn’t meant to find a ring. It had happened just a few weeks ago, when he’d been looking for a gift for their three month anniversary at an antique shop in his neighborhood. The ring jumped out at him from the jewelry display case, and he knew it was for her.

He supposed it wasn’t much for an engagement ring. Antiqued sterling silver with a tiny ruby in the center of a rose-shaped setting. But ever since he’d brought her that first long-stemmed rose, she melted at anything to do with roses. Yes, if he ever asked her, this was the ring to do it with.

So Blackwall had bought it.

He’d never be able to propose. He couldn’t get engaged, couldn’t marry her, until she knew about his crime. And he was going to tell her, he really was. Every day he mustered his courage a little more. He was getting there, revealing his past piece by tiny piece.

But when he told her the whole of it, she would leave him. 

There would be no proposal.

Still. He kept the ring in his pocket all the time. Just in case. Just because. 

He loved her. He wanted to be with her for the rest of his life. And if there was any chance she might have him, he would be prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ring: https://www.etsy.com/listing/209704002/belles-ring-rose-ring-silver-rose-band


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for threat of rape and misogynistic language.

It wasn’t uncommon these days for Blackwall to meet Mirevas at INKquisition before they headed back to her place. She was getting off early today, so it was about six o’clock when he arrived at the shop. As soon as he stepped inside the INKquisition doors, Dagna practically jumped on him. “Blackwall! You have to see. I’ve done my first real tattoo!”

Blackwall smiled. It was impossible not to at Dagna’s infectious enthusiasm. “Now that _is_ something I have to see.”

Dagna grabbed his hand and all but dragged him through the full shop to Mirevas, who was standing in front of the mirror, admiring the back of her leg. When she saw Blackwall, her face lit up.

“Blackwall,” she said, “take a look!”

She gestured to her leg, where there was indeed a new tattoo. Right behind her knee, at the top of her calf, was a beautiful red rose.

His heart melted.

“What do you think?” Dagna asked proudly. “Mirevas said it represented her relationship with you, so your opinion is really important. Did I do a good job?”

Mirevas’s cheeks tinged pink.

“It’s perfect,” Blackwall murmured, his eyes locked on Mirevas’s. “You’re going to be an amazing tattooist.”

Dagna threw her arms around Blackwall’s waist. “Thank you!” she cried, before bounding off towards Solas. Blackwall couldn’t help but notice that the piercer was watching them, his mouth set in a tight line.

Mirevas’s hand on his cheek drew his attention back to her. “You like it?”

“I can’t believe it. You would put something permanent on your body -- for me?”

She put one hand on his waist, then slid it up to touch the griffon tattoo on his back. “You have my mark on you. Is it so surprising that I would want something of you on me?”

It was, actually. It still surprised him every day that she didn’t walk out and leave him, worthless thing that he was, and the idea that she could be that committed to him, that she would imprint a sign of their relationship on herself… 

It was wrong. He should never have let this happen. 

“Blackwall?”

Guilt coursed through him, and he spoke honestly. “I think you’ll regret it later.”

Mirevas rolled her eyes. “None of that. Are you ready to go? I’ll just get Dagna to bandage this up, and then --”

“Inkquisitor.”

Both Blackwall and Mirevas looked up at Solas’s voice. Solas inclined his head toward the front of the shop.

Roderick Asignon was back on their doorstep with his **KEEP OUR NEIGHBORHOOD CLASSY** sign. And this time, he wasn’t alone. Another man stood with him, holding a sign that said **PUNKS GET OUT**.

“Josie--” Mirevas began.

“On it.” The young woman already had the phone pressed to her ear.

Mirevas sighed. “I suppose I should go talk to them.”

Blackwall looked at the new protestor. Something in the man’s eyes unsettled Blackwall. “Perhaps you’d better wait for the police to arrive.”

Mirevas shook her head. “No. They deserve fair warning. Don’t worry, Blackwall. I’ll be fine.”

She walked away before Blackwall could argue.

\----------

Mirevas pushed open the glass door and stepped outside into the warm sun. “Good day, gentlemen.”

Roderick opened his mouth to answer, but the other man spoke first. “Don’t ‘good day’ me, you tattooed freak.”

The harsh words were a slap in the face. Roderick had always been an annoyance, but Mirevas treated him with respect, and he responded with polite hostility. He was a lot of bluster but no real threat. Mirevas had expected the same from his new friend. She was wrong. With those words, Mirevas could see true danger behind this man’s hateful sneer.

Even Roderick looked taken aback. “Lucius--”

“I won’t be spoken to by a little weirdo punk. Get out of my face, slut.”

Mirevas’s bravery melted away, and genuine fear took hold in her gut. This was not safe. She should go back inside and wait for the police like Blackwall suggested. 

No. 

Mirevas rallied her courage. She’d faced down bigots many times over the years. She wouldn’t be bullied now.

She spoke with the usual polite tone she reserved for Roderick. “I simply wanted to let you know that the police have been called. If you wanted to leave, now is the--”

“Don’t understand the meaning of the words ‘get away,’ do you, cunt?” The man’s voice dripped with hate. “Shouldn’t be surprised. Think you have the right to take up space anywhere you like, don’t you? Can’t tell when you’re not wanted?”

Behind her, Mirevas heard the door open.

The man -- Lucius -- stepped forward into Mirevas’s space. “Tattoos all over you. Making sure everyone looks at your body. Little whore. I can give you what you’re looking for. Won’t leave when you’re told -- must be what you want, then, yeah?”

Lucius grabbed her arm hard enough to hurt.

What happened next was a blur. Mirevas took a step backwards, when suddenly there was a form between her and Lucius, pushing her back protectively. She staggered, catching herself with one hand on the glass window behind her. She heard flesh hitting flesh, and someone howled in pain.

No, no, no. Blackwall shouldn’t have done that. She looked up, trying to regain her balance both literally and figuratively -- and saw who had come to her defense. It wasn’t Blackwall.

It was Solas.

Mirevas turned around, her first instinct to look for Blackwall, making sure he was okay. Silly and illogical, but there it was. He stood in the doorway, murder in his expression. Behind him, the entire shop -- employees and clients -- watched through the windows with wide eyes.

She turned back. Lucius held his nose, blood seeping through his fingers, still screaming. Roderick had taken several steps away. He’d dropped his sign and was watching the scene in horror, his mouth agape.

Solas stood in front of her, his eyes dark. “Are you all right?”

Mirevas could only nod.

\----------

Cassandra and Cullen had plenty of questions when they arrived. Luckily for Solas, Roderick turned on his friend, insisting to the cops that Lucius had moved first, threatening Mirevas with rape and physically assaulting her. Mirevas’s arm was red and swollen where Lucius had grabbed her, signs of bruises beginning to form. Cullen took pictures of it.

They questioned the witnesses. Every one of them corroborated Mirevas and Solas’s story.

The man -- Lucius Corin, his name was -- had a bloody nose, but nothing appeared to be broken. Cassandra cuffed him and put him in the squad car. 

While Cullen and Cassandra questioned the witnesses, Mirevas grabbed her chance. She approached Solas and pulled him aside.

“Why would you do that for me?” she said without preamble.

Solas avoided her gaze, looking over the top of her head. “You’re my friend,” he said. “I couldn’t let you be hurt.”

Something about the answer didn’t sit right with Mirevas, and she couldn’t say why. He was her friend, true, but he’d moved so fast. He came to her defense even before Blackwall could. That meant something, and it wasn’t friendship. “Is that all?” she asked.

“Of course.”

No. She didn’t believe him. “Solas, look at me.”

He did, and Mirevas examined his face. He looked almost afraid of her.

And Mirevas knew. 

Solas was in love with her.

Her world tilted, as if the ground had fallen out from under her. Solas, her sullen friend, in love with her. He’d never given any sign of it before. Or had he? The way he avoided her when she was with Blackwall, watching them from across the room but never approaching, a certain look in his eyes that was almost angry…

She should have known. How could she not have known?

He must have seen the recognition in her eyes, because he looked away, shaking his head. “You’re my friend, Inkquisitor. That’s enough.”

_Enough_ , he said. Enough for what? Enough reason to punch Lucius Corin? Enough to make Solas happy? Mirevas didn’t know.

Guilt flowed through her. Guilt at not realizing sooner what he felt for her, guilt at not returning his feelings. “Oh, Solas.” Her voice broke as she said his name.

“It’s enough, Mirevas. Truly.”

“How could I never realize?”

Solas sighed and met her eyes again. “I didn’t want you to.”

“Solas--”

“Shh,” he said. He reached one hand towards her face, then let it fall back down without touching her. “I don’t want you to think of me. You’re happy. That’s all I want.”

Mirevas found tears forming in her eyes. She wiped them away. “I’m sorry,” she said, but she didn’t know what she was apologizing for. For crying? For not returning his affections?

“I’m not,” Solas said.

He smiled at her, a bittersweet smile. Impulsively, Mirevas leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

His eyes closed. “You’d better go. I think Officer Pentaghast wants to talk to you.

Mirevas wished there was something she could say, some way to let him know that she cared about him, even though it wasn’t the way he wanted. But there didn’t seem to be words.

She turned and walked away towards Cassandra. Just before she reached her, Solas said, “Inkquisitor?”

Mirevas looked back.

Solas’s composed mask was back up. “This doesn’t change anything,” he said. “I’m your friend.”

Tears still in her eyes, Mirevas nodded.

\----------

Blackwall’s head was a whirl of emotions. He wanted to bash Lucius Corin’s skull in. Every time he thought of the things Corin had said to Mirevas, of how he’d laid his hands on her, Blackwall’s blood burned in his veins. _He_ should have been the one to smash Corin’s nose. He should have been out there first, defending the woman he loved. Someone else had done it, and Blackwall was furious about it. He hadn’t been fast enough. That was inexcusable.

Despite all that, a small part of Blackwall was relieved that Solas had gotten there first. With Blackwall’s record, he was almost guaranteed to be in far worse straits than the piercer was. But that relief -- he was more ashamed of it than of anything else. Only a coward would be glad about not protecting the love of his life. If he couldn’t protect Mirevas, he didn’t deserve to have her.

Of course, he’d always known he didn’t deserve her. So he supposed this didn’t change anything.

He’d hoped she would run to his arms as soon as she was safe. But Mirevas had always been independent, and she faced danger head-on. Knowing her as he did, Blackwall saw her fear, but he suspected he was the only one who could. She wouldn’t show weakness. 

So there was no rush to him for comfort. She talked to the police first, then Solas, and then she went inside and apologized personally to all the clients who had witnessed the scene.

Finally, finally, she turned to Blackwall with a small smile and walked straight into his arms. A wave of reassurance washed over him, and he pulled her in tight, her closeness a sweet comfort. “Are you okay?”

“Not really, but--” she squeezed him tighter “--this is definitely helping.”

Blackwall stroked her hair. “I’m sorry I didn’t defend you.”

Mirevas chuckled. “I know you would have.”

“Still.”

Mirevas leaned her head up towards him, and he laid a kiss on her lips. “You’re still my hero,” she told him. “You always will be.”

Blackwall closed his eyes and pretended it was true.

\----------

Cullen was about to get into the squad car with Cassandra when he happened to look through the glass window. Mirevas and Rainier were holding each other in a way that was obviously not platonic.

Cullen flinched.

“What’s the matter?” Cassandra said.

Cullen tried to calm his instinctive anger. This might not be what he thought. If Rainier had told Mirevas about his crime, and she accepted him anyway, then Cullen was happy for her.

But if Rainier was deceiving her…

“Cullen. What is it now?”

Cullen didn’t look at his partner. “I just need a second,” he said and closed the door without getting in.

\----------

“Rainier.”

Blackwall froze at the name. Fuck. He’d thought Rutherford was gone.

Mirevas pulled back from their embrace, her brow creased with concern.

Cullen’s voice was hard, cold. “You haven’t forgotten what we talked about, have you?”

Blackwall didn’t take his eyes off Mirevas. “No.”

“So she knows?”

God help him. It was all coming out. Ice cold terror washed over him, and he couldn’t reply.

Understanding crossed Mirevas’s face. She frowned at Rutherford. “It’s not your business, Cullen. He’s tried to tell me.”

“Not hard enough, I think,” Cullen said.

Silence fell over the shop. Blackwall was aware that all eyes were on him and Mirevas.

Rutherford was right. He hadn’t tried hard enough. What did trying matter, anyway? They were words. You said them or you didn’t. And Blackwall hadn’t said them.

He took a step backward, his heart in his throat.

Mirevas’s eyes were wide. “You don’t have to --” she began.

“No,” Blackwall said. “I do.”

Silence again. Blackwall took a breath.

“I was in prison.”

No response. The entire room waited with bated breath. Blackwall found that he’d gone numb. It was as though he were outside these proceedings, watching the story unfold.

Finally, Varric spoke. “For what, Hero?”

_Hero._ Blackwall had never liked the nickname. It struck him now as particularly ironic, right in the middle of his grand confession.

“Accessory to murder.”

Mirevas’s face had closed off entirely. Those striking eyes of hers gave nothing away.

And with that, reality came crashing back. Dear god. Mirevas knew now what a lowly piece of scum she’d tied herself to. That was it. He’d lost her. 

Suddenly Blackwall couldn’t stand there a moment longer, couldn’t face the cold blankness of Mirevas’s eyes, couldn’t face the utter silence that permeated the shop. In a few short strides, he reached the door, pushing past Rutherford and stepping out into the setting sun.

He didn’t stop, didn’t look back. He pushed through the crowds on the city street, ignoring the annoyed looks he got in return. The only thing that mattered was getting away as quickly as he could. Soon INKquisition was far behind him. His heart was bleeding, every step away more painful than the last. 

It was over. She was gone.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: [Goodbye My Lover by James Blunt](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2ntKgLxgY9s)

Silence followed Blackwall’s exit. Not a single person spoke, not a single tattoo machine hummed. 

Mirevas’s heart had turned to lead in her chest. Accessory to murder. She’d thought -- she didn’t know what she’d thought. A robbery, maybe, or a drug-related crime. But no. Blackwall had plotted another person’s death.

She didn’t know what to think, what to feel.

Varric broke the silence. “What’s the story, Curly?”

Cullen looked at Mirevas with sympathy in his eyes, and anger flared in her stomach. Cullen had forced this revelation, here in her place of business, in front of all her clients. To pity her now, after what he’d done -- she had to bite her tongue before she told him where he could shove his sympathy.

Cullen was oblivious to her upset. “It was back when I was new to the force in Detroit. Rainier -- there was a man named Vincent Callier --”

“ _No_.” Mirevas’s voice rang through the shop.

Cullen blinked.

She tried and failed to keep the anger from her voice. “I’m not going to hear this story now. Not from you. I’ve waited long enough for this. I’m going to hear it from Blackwall’s mouth. He’s going to tell me himself.”

With that, she pushed past Cullen and out the door.

The street was crowded. Mirevas stood on her tiptoes, trying to make out Blackwall’s form among the throng. “Blackwall!” she cried. “Blackwall! Wait!”

No answer. She couldn’t see any sign of the man she loved.

\----------

Mirevas couldn’t find Blackwall. She searched for him desperately, but to no avail. He wasn’t answering his phone. He wasn’t at home, wasn’t at the car shop, wasn’t at her place. She called Sera, but Sera hadn’t seen him.

Christ. Maybe this was it. Maybe he’d left for good.

A cold sweat came over her at the thought.

No. She wouldn’t think of it. She would find him, and he would tell her the whole story. He had to. To lose him now, like this -- it was unthinkable.

She looked everywhere she could think of. She visited every place they’d ever gone together. She searched and searched until she couldn’t search any more. Finally, finally, when all her options were exhausted, when she was so tired she couldn’t think, she gave up looking. As much as she hated it, he didn’t want to be found. To keep pushing when he’d hidden himself so completely -- no. It would be wrong. He’d made it as clear as he could that he didn’t want to see her, and she had to accept that. Blackwall would either find her or not, tell her or not. It was out of her hands.

She went home, headed straight for bed, and cried herself to sleep.

\----------

Blackwall dreamed of Mirevas.

They were at the Metro, alone, the Charger’s music playing in the background. He was dancing with her, waltzing, her delicate hand in his, his other hand on her tiny waist. She beamed up at him, a dazzling smile that knocked the breath out of him.

“I love you, Blackwall,” she said.

“But… my crime…”

“You never committed a crime.”

Her words became reality as she spoke them. He’d never committed a crime. His past dissipated from existence like so much smoke. There was only Mirevas, always and forever. He’d never been separated from her, and he never would.

His steps faltered. He slid both arms around Mirevas, pulling her closer. She stood on her tiptoes, brushing her lips against his, and he groaned, pressing his mouth hard against hers, deepening the kiss. She was warm and soft and perfect, and he never wanted to let her go.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips, and the words thrilled through him.

He broke the kiss, falling to his knees, and she cradled his head, pulling it tight against her stomach.

“I love you, Mirevas.” He spoke the words that summed up his entire world. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

A loud chime bolted him awake. He sat straight up.

Mirevas. He grasped for the remnants of the dream, but they faded away, disappearing from his consciousness even as he reached for them. His arms felt agonizingly empty, as though she’d been torn from him. Which, of course, she had.

It had been two days since he’d seen her. No, this morning made three. He hadn’t been able to go home, terrified that Mirevas would find him there. She would want the whole story before she thrust him from her life, ripping his heart out as she did so. He couldn’t face that final confrontation, so he’d gone to Sera, wringing from her the promise of her secrecy. He hid like a coward in her basement apartment, sleeping on the couch.

Alone, the way he deserved to be.

The chime came again. Sera’s doorbell.

Knowing Sera was dead to the world, he kicked the blankets off the couch and stumbled to the door.

Solas stood on the other side.

Blackwall blinked the sleep out of his eyes and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. “Solas, what…”

Solas said nothing, just looked past Blackwall into the apartment, then back at Blackwall.

Right. Blackwall opened the door wider to let Solas come in, gesturing to the couch.

They both sat awkwardly. No, that was wrong. Blackwall felt awkward. The piercer looked as poised as ever.

Why on earth would Solas be here? Was it -- 

His heart leapt into his throat. “Mirevas sent you?”

“She has no idea I’m here.”

Ah. Disappointment flooded him, and he shook it off. Irrational to be disappointed. He didn’t want to see Mirevas. 

Right? 

“How did you find me?”

“I asked Varric for Sera’s number. She told me where you were.”

Blackwall clenched his hands into fists. The little traitor.

Solas cocked his head. “Mirevas didn’t send me, but I’m here because of her.”

“To warn me away, then.” That made more sense. Solas had always made his dislike of Blackwall obvious.

“To get you to come back.”

The words startled him. Blackwall stared at Solas in shock.

“She cries all the time,” Solas said. “Not in front of us, of course. But every time she comes out of her office, she has red eyes.”

Guilt flooded Blackwall. It was his fault. His secret had done this to her. She was in pain because of him. She had loved him once. No, not him. She had loved a lie. Of course she was broken-hearted to know that the man she’d loved didn’t exist. That he’d pretended to be worthy of her, when all along he was a-- a--

“So.” Solas crossed his arms. “You need to come back.”

Blackwall couldn’t follow. Come back? When he’d already broken her heart so completely? “I don’t understand.”

Solas made a noise of exasperation and turned his gaze away, fixing his eyes on the ceiling. “Is it not obvious? She loves you.”

“But I’m -- I’m a monster. And she knows it.”

Solas looked back at him. “You might be. Maybe we all are. I’m in no position to judge. That’s up to Mirevas.”

“Look,” Blackwall said, and suddenly he couldn’t sit there anymore. He stood, and then felt silly for doing so. There was nowhere to go. “She can’t want to see me. I won’t force my presence on her.”

“But what if she forgives you?”

Blackwall stared at Solas. He was stating the impossible.

“She’s a very forgiving person, you know. And you haven’t given her a chance.”

“She can’t forgive me,” Blackwall said without thinking.

“Can’t she?”

Silence. Blackwall couldn’t think. Of course she was forgiving, but to love someone responsible for the murder of another human being--

Solas stood, smoothing out his black jeans as he did so. “I simply believe she deserves the explanation. And I think you’re a fool not to give it to her. Were I in your position --” He stopped. “Well. There are some things best unsaid. But I suspect your secret is not one of them. And you are most definitely a fool if you give up without a fight. Only an idiot would let Mirevas go.”

Without another word, Solas crossed to the front door and let himself out.

Blackwall stood stupidly in the living room, staring at the door as it closed behind Solas. Solas believed he still had a chance.

Could it be possible?

“Gonna listen to him, then?”

Blackwall jumped and whirled around. Sera stood in the doorway of her bedroom, blinking sleepily at him.

“Won’t listen to me, will you?” she went on. “Oh, no, Sera doesn’t know her arse from a hole in the ground. Gonna listen to that Solas guy, then?”

“I thought you weren’t going to tell anyone where I was,” Blackwall retorted. “Traitor.”

“Ha! I said I wouldn’t tell Varric or your Inkquisitor. No one said a thing about her piercer.”

Blackwall grabbed his blanket and threw himself back down on the couch, hiding his head under the covers.

“So. Gonna tell her?”

Blackwall squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into his pillow.

“You’re hopeless, you are,” Sera said. A moment later he heard the door close behind her.

Solas’s words ran through Blackwall’s mind. _You are most definitely a fool if you give up without a fight. Only an idiot would let Mirevas go._

“Yes,” Blackwall whispered to himself. “I’ll tell her.”


	21. Chapter 21

It was the end of the third day without Blackwall. Three torturous, hellish days. Every time the bell at the front door rang, Mirevas’s head spun around, heart pounding, hoping for Blackwall.

It was never him.

Mirevas felt like a giant, open wound. Foolish to think any kind of happiness could last. She’d had heaven, and now she had nothing. It tore her apart.

That night, she stayed at INKquisition late, working on whatever paperwork she could find. She didn’t want to go home. Work kept her mind busy, kept her heart numb. At home, alone in her apartment, there was nothing to think of but Blackwall. And she couldn’t face it.

Eventually, though, her eyelids were drooping, and she knew it was time. Time to go back to her empty home. Time to face reality once again. Time to lose herself in pain.

She drove home mechanically. The radio was off. Every song reminded her of Blackwall.

Mirevas was still on autopilot when she turned off the engine and got out of the car, walking up to her two-flat building without paying any attention to her surroundings.

“Mirevas.”

Her head shot up. She would recognize that voice anywhere.

Blackwall sat on her porch, his body hunched over, elbows resting on his thighs. He looked up at her, and the pain on his face was too much to bear.

He was here. He’d come back to her.

Mirevas found tears forming in her eyes. She stumbled forward, and before she knew it, she was throwing herself at him. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and they both fell over backwards.

For a moment, Blackwall didn’t touch her. Then his arms came up, enveloping her, pulling her tight against him. His lips pressed against her hair.

She squeezed her eyes shut. They lay there awkwardly on the cement porch, neither one moving.

Finally, Blackwall spoke. “I-- I have things to tell you.”

“Not yet,” Mirevas said, pressing her face against his neck. “Just give me this moment.”

Blackwall’s breath hitched. One hand gently stroked her back.

“How can you touch me?” he whispered.

_Because I love you,_ she thought, but she didn’t answer. It was too obvious to put into words.

Finally, finally, Mirevas climbed off him, but she didn’t let go. Instead, she sat next to him, both arms wrapped around his waist.

“You might not want to hold me like that when you hear everything.” Blackwall’s voice shook.

Mirevas never wanted to let him go. “Are you going to tell me now?”

“Yes.”

Reluctantly, she pulled her arms back. “I’m ready to listen.”

Blackwall sighed, looking straight forward into the night. “You’re going to hate me.”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Very well.” Blackwall took a breath, then spit out the next words. “I was a cop. Chief of my precinct.”

Blackwall had worked for the police? Mirevas had not expected that. With all he’d told her, he’d never mentioned working for the force.

“I --” Blackwall stopped, then started again. “There was a lot of crime in my district. Organized crime. Fighting it was impossible.”

“I can imagine,” Mirevas murmured.

“But I wasn’t there to fight crime, not really. I was arrogant. Full of myself. I liked the way people treated me as a police officer. I liked the authority it gave me. And when I became police chief, I liked the power that came with it.”

Mirevas was silent. She already knew that Blackwall despised his younger self. That he had not been the person he was now. And it had never mattered to her. She loved who he was now, not whoever he’d been in the past. So she said nothing, waiting for the rest of the story.

Blackwall let out a shuddering breath. “There were two major factions of organized crime in Detroit at the time. And I -- I took money from one of them. They would pay me to look the other way when they committed minor crimes.”

He stopped, took a breath. “One day they approached me with a bigger offer. They were planning an assassination. They wanted to take out the head of their rival organization. They wanted to make sure the police didn’t get in the way.”

“And you agreed.”

“Yes.”

He hadn’t been as directly involved as she’d feared, then. It wasn’t the murder of someone he knew. Not it was any better this way. He was still responsible for a death.

“God help me,” Blackwall choked out. “I was a fool. I thought, how many lives has this man taken? I convinced myself that it wasn’t a big deal. That I was taking out a dangerous individual who deserved the death penalty, not snuffing out a life. Not letting a deadly crime syndicate rise to power. But it was about the money. Always, it was about the money. I was a greedy asshole, so I took the bastards’ money and looked the other way.”

He fell silent, squeezing his eyes tightly shut.

What Blackwall was saying was awful. But Mirevas had always known it wasn’t a small error she was dealing with. She was finally getting answers, and as bad as those answers were, it was a relief to finally know. 

“So this crime lord was killed?” she pressed.

“Yes.” He opened his eyes and looked at the sky. “But it doesn’t end there.”

She kept her voice as gentle as she could. “Where does it end, then?”

“I’d made sure my officers were posted elsewhere, away from where the crime would take place. It was to be an abandoned warehouse, no people around. But --”

Understanding dawned. “Someone else was there.”

Blackwall nodded. “There was a young man. A cop from another precinct. His name was Vincent Callier.” He shuddered. “I’ll never forget that name.”

“What happened?” Mirevas whispered.

“He was off-duty. On his way home, still in uniform. He heard the gunshots and decided to check it out.”

The picture was becoming clear in Mirevas’s head, and it wasn’t pretty. “He was killed.”

Blackwall slumped forward, closing his eyes. “Horribly.”

“And you blame yourself.”

“He had a wife, children. A boy and a girl. They’ve had to grow up without a father. And it’s my fault.” His voice cracked. “I couldn’t live with the guilt. I turned myself in.”

Mirevas’s head spun at the new revelation. How could he think so low of himself when he’d taken such an honorable action? “That’s why you were in prison?”

“For five years. That’s where I got my nickname. There was a warden named Blackwall, and I admired him. The other inmates began to call me by his name in derision. But I adopted it. I was honored.

“Those were the worst years of my life. Cops -- they are not well treated in prison. But I deserved what I got. I deserved everything.” He took a shuddering breath. “And I deserve to lose you now, too.”

\----------

It was out. It was done.

Thom’s emotions warred within him. He felt strangely lighter now that the truth was out, with his secret no longer pressing on him as it had every day since he’d met Mirevas. But underneath that, his soul bled. As if his heart had been cut from his chest. This was it. He’d lost her.

“When I was with you--” he choked out the words “--I believed I could do anything. Anything. It’s a big word. Means a lot.”

The soft skin of her hand on his sent a jolt of electricity through him. He looked up at her in disbelief.

Her beautiful brown eyes gazed at him, full of emotion. “ _You_ mean a lot,” she said.

Blackwall found his body shaking. Those words -- she couldn’t be saying --

Compassion overflowed in her eyes. “You’re a good man, Thom Rainier. I’m proud of you.”

Proud? Thom tried to speak, but his breath caught in his throat.

“You’ve turned your life around. Look at where you are now. Look at all the good you’ve done. How much you affect the lives of others. You took a terrible mistake and used it to become a new man, one kinder and more honorable than any I’ve ever met. And all this time, you’ve been holding this in, thinking I’m going to hate you? Letting it fester in your soul?”

She leaned forward and laid one soft, small kiss on his lips.

He couldn’t breathe. A sob welled up in his chest, a choking sort of gasp. Mirevas tightened her grip on his hand, raising the other hand to stroke his cheek.

He hadn’t cried in years. Not since Callier’s death. Not in all the years of prison abuse or all the years since then. He never let himself. He didn’t deserve to cry.

But now the tears spilled down his cheeks. The sobs wracked his body, and he couldn’t stop them.

Mirevas reacted immediately, pulling him into her arms, holding him tight. Blackwall pressed his face against her shoulder and let the grief overtake him.

She whispered in his ear. “It’s all right, I’m here now. I’m not letting you go. I love you, Blackwall. I love you, Thom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut next chapter? Smut next chapter.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is a good time to thank all my readers for being so loyal and sharing so many lovely comments. And even those of you who haven't commented -- you all mean so much to me.

Mirevas dragged Blackwall up the stairs to her apartment, and he followed obediently, overwhelmed by the kindness of her soul. As soon as they reached the top and the door was closed behind them, she turned to him, teasing at his lips with hers, her fingertips running softly over his chest.

“Mirevas,” he protested against her mouth. “I don’t deserve --”

“You deserve,” she said breathily.

_This must be a dream_ , he thought, but she felt so real. His hands came up to rest on her hips, and she moaned softly. Her fingers moved lower, and she pulled lightly on the hem of his t-shirt, breaking the kiss to look up at him with a question in her eyes.

_Yes._ The answer was always yes. He nodded, releasing her to take hold of his shirt’s hem himself and tug it off over his head.

Mirevas sighed and reached for him again, pulling him close. She laid one soft kiss over his heart.

He couldn’t stand it. Her kindness, her love, her forgiveness, it was too much. “Mirevas--”

“Yes?”

_You’re too good for me. I’m not worthy of your touch. You shouldn’t have to do this._

“Are you sure?” was all he said.

“Positive,” she said firmly. “Blackwall, I love you.”

Her words went straight to his heart.

Ever so gently, she guided him back toward the couch. He followed obediently, nothing but putty in her beautiful hands. She knelt at his feet, unlacing his boots, and slipped them off, then moved up his body to the waistband of his jeans. Slowly, carefully, she unbuttoned his fly, then slid both jeans and boxers down and off, leaving him exposed to her gaze. He tingled all over, revelling in the feeling of being entirely under her control. He would do anything for her, wanted everything she wanted. He didn’t move, afraid to touch her lest he break this beautiful spell.

Mirevas gave a little push at his shoulders, and Blackwall sat down. He watched as she took off her own clothes, exposing her lovely tattooed skin to him inch by inch. He’d never thought to see her like this again, never thought he would have the joy of the sight of her after she knew the truth. But she wanted him. It was a miracle.

Finally, the last piece of her clothing was gone, and she stood before him, glorious in her nudity.

“Mirevas.”

She leaned over, laying a single kiss on his lips, and he shivered in delight at the contact. Wordlessly, she straddled him. Her wet cunt pressed against his hard cock, and he couldn’t hold back a groan of desire.

Her kisses were light. She started with his mouth, then moved to his neck, his shoulders. Blackwall’s head fell back in bliss at the delicious onslaught of sensation.

She slid off of him, down to her knees. Her lips touched the head of his cock.

Blackwall sat up straight with a jolt. “No, Mirevas.”

She sat back on her heels immediately.

The moment was broken. Blackwall felt like a fool.

“I’m sorry,” Mirevas said.

“No, don’t -- I’m sorry.”

“You don’t want that?”

Blackwall groaned. “Of course I do. But, my lady, I can’t let you -- I’m nothing, Mirevas. Less than nothing. I’m lucky you’ll even deign to look at me. For you to -- it’s too much. You shouldn’t have to do this for me.”

Mirevas looked at him thoughtfully. Then she lifted herself up, leaning forward to kiss him. It was brief, and it was sweet.

“You’re still thinking that you’re not worthy of me,” she murmured. “Thom, I want to do this for you. It will make me happy. Your pleasure makes me happy.”

Her words made his whole body shake with emotion. The joy she gave him was too much. _She_ was too much.

She looked up at him, her brown eyes shining. “If you want it,” she said, “then let me take care of you. Please.”

God, yes, he wanted it. Blackwall made an involuntary noise in the back of his throat, and he nodded.

Mirevas lowered her head again. She pressed a simple kiss against the tip of his cock, then took him deep into her mouth.

Blackwall moaned, utterly overwhelmed. Her mouth was so hot and wet. Her hand grasped the base of him, stroking him in time with her movements. Her tongue licked and teased. She loved him, she wanted him. She was doing this for his pleasure. The ecstasy of it consumed him.

But he didn’t want it to end this way, with him spilling in her mouth. Not this time. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to spend himself enveloped in her warmth.

“Mirevas,” he stammered. “I want -- I want --”

She flicked her tongue over the tip of him, and he nearly lost his train of thought. “I want you.” he said. “Can we --”

Mirevas sucked him back into her mouth, then slid her lips off him. “Whatever you want, Blackwall. Whatever you need.”

He quivered all over as she climbed back on top of him. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, her beautiful tattooed skin, her full breasts, her chocolate brown eyes. She took him in hand and pressed the tip of him to her entrance, watching him intently. “Like this?” she asked huskily.

“Yes,” he said, “yes. Please. I just need to be in you.”

Her eyes softened, and she slid her sheath down over his cock.

Good god. The pleasure of her body was overpowering. She lifted herself up, then down again, moving on top of him, rubbing herself against him and driving him absolutely mad with desire. He thrust up into her in time with her movements. She was amazing. She was perfect.

She was everything.

And she was close, he could already tell. She closed her eyes, biting her bottom lip, her breath coming in sharp pants. Blackwall watched her, revelling in the beauty of her pleasure. She drove him closer and closer to his own peak.

“Blackwall,” she said, “I’m going to--”

Her climax hit her then. Her body trembled above him, her wet sheath clenching around him. The sounds she made were exquisite. Her fingers grasped his shoulders tightly as she moved on top of him. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, ever felt.

Finally, her body collapsed on top of him. “Oh, Thom,” she said. “I love you so much.”

Her declaration sent a thrill through him.

Mirevas lifted her head to kiss him, a long, deep kiss. “How do you want it now?”

“Can you come again?”

She hesitated, then nodded.

“Then lay down.”

Mirevas obeyed with a small smile, laying on her back on the couch, her legs spread before him. Christ above, she was gorgeous.

Instead of taking her again, he lowered his head to her cunt. “Is this okay?”

She moaned. “God, yes, Blackwall. I want you.”

Without another word, he pressed his tongue to her center. Her body jerked beneath him. Knowing she would be sensitive, that he would need to build her back up, he kept his ministrations light, running his tongue over the whole length of her. Christ, he loved the way she tasted.

When her breathing started to speed up, he began to circle her clit, keeping his pressure light. His tongue flicked softly at her swollen bud, and she squeaked, his absolute favorite sound.

“God, Blackwall -- more, please, more --”

He resumed his circles, licking a little harder, a little faster. Her body went tense, her legs clenched tight. Carefully, he slipped a finger inside her, and she gasped.

She was close. Blackwall pushed his finger in deeper, finding the spot that drove her wild. He sucked her clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over her as he did so.

With a cry, she came, her body shaking, back arched, hands scrabbling for purchase on the sofa. He didn’t stop, sucking and licking and stroking until she grabbed his hair to stop him.

Blackwall’s cock throbbed with need. He wanted her more than he ever had.

Mirevas tugged gently on his hair, and he moved up, his body over hers. She reached down and took him in hand, guiding him towards her.

“Yes?” she asked.

“God, yes,” he groaned and slid himself inside her.

She was so hot, so wet, so wonderful. She cried out beneath him, thrusting her hips up to take him deeper. He wasn’t going to last. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her hands on his back holding him against her. He was aware of every precious inch of her.

Her hands slid down to cup his ass, pulling him in even deeper with every thrust. It was too much. With a cry, he exploded inside her, the waves of ecstasy shaking him over and over. Mirevas kissed along his neck, his shoulder, as rapture overtook him.

It seemed to last forever, but finally, his orgasm abated. Mirevas kept kissing him, the gesture comforting and sweet. Blackwall lifted himself up, pulling away from her just enough to see her face, her eyelids heavy with satisfaction, her lips quirked in a contented half-smile.

“That was supposed to be about you,” she said apologetically.

Her pleasure, her happiness, was everything he needed. “It was,” Blackwall said. “It was.”


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: [Not Broken Anymore by Blue October](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZH2WpV3Pl24)

It was impossible. Impossible that Mirevas was in his arms right now. Impossible that she still loved him.

They had cleaned themselves up but not gotten dressed. Blackwall lay on the couch with Mirevas on top of him, her head resting on his chest, fingers playing with his chest hair.

“I’m glad I know now,” she said.

“I can’t believe you’re still here.” He didn’t think he would ever get over his wonder.

She made a noise that was almost a laugh. “I told you I would forgive you.”

“But you didn’t know--”

Mirevas nuzzled her head against him. “I knew enough. I know who you are.”

Blackwall closed his eyes and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“You’re not going to leave?” he asked her.

Her answer was fierce. “Not ever, if I have my way. But--”

A chill shot down his spine. “But?”

Mirevas sighed and lifted her head. “I think you should see a counselor.”

He definitely hadn’t expected that. “I’m not crazy.”

She frowned. “No, and I wasn’t crazy when I was ten and went to a counselor because the neighborhood kids were bullying me over my two dads. I wasn’t crazy when I went through a bout of situational depression in college and saw the campus counselor. Needing help doesn’t mean crazy.”

Blackwall regretted his words. He knew better than that. He’d been a prejudiced ass in his youth, and although he’d learned a lot since then, he still had to shake off the instincts he’d internalized so long ago. “No. I’m sorry.”

Mirevas smiled and shook her head. “It’s okay.”

“But --” He still didn’t understand. If Mirevas was with him, he was fine. The only trauma in his life was losing her, and she was back. It was over. “What can a counselor do for me?”

She scooted herself farther up his body and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You carry a lot of guilt inside. It’s not healthy for you. Thom, I forgive you. But that’s never been the problem between us. The problem is that you don’t forgive yourself.”

It was an idea he’d never even considered. Forgiving himself? He’d thought only of others, of the way they must hate him, and how much he deserved it. He’d never considered his opinion of himself. 

Too many emotions churned within him. Counseling. He’d only know guilt and self-hate for so long. Was it possible he could move past that? To live just like any other person? But-- “You think I should forget what I did? An innocent man is dead because of me.”

“Not forget. Forgive, Blackwall. It’s in the past. You need to look to the future.” She trailed her fingers down his chest. “ _We_ need to look to the future. We can’t do that if you’re always looking back.”

Blackwall’s heart thumped. “And what do you see in the future?”

Mirevas smiled. “A house, a dog? Children, maybe, if you want them. Or not.”

He wanted them. He wanted all of it. He thought of the ring he’d been carrying with him, of all the times he’d fantasized about proposing to her.

“That’s what you see in your future?”

“Our future. Yes.” She hesitated. “If you want it.”

This was it. This was the moment. The ring was --

Oh. In his wallet. In his pants. Over there on the floor.

Mirevas’s smile faltered. “What is it, Blackwall?”

“I -- erm --”

She sat up suddenly. Her cheeks grew red, and she turned her face away. “That was too much. I’m sorry. I--I’m not asking for anything. Just to stay together. Maybe later we can talk about--”

“Marry me,” Blackwall blurted without thinking.

She stopped, slowly turning her head to look back at him. Her expression was frozen.

Oh, god. His heart pounded fast and hard in his chest. What had he done?  
“What... did you say?”

No turning back now. Not that he wanted to. Unless the answer was no, which just might tear him apart. 

No, he needed to know. And if she refused him, it was better to get it out.

Right?

Blackwall sat up, gathering his courage. “Marry me, my lady.”

She stared at him in silence.

He let it all spill out. “Please. I want to be with you. The house, the dog, the kids, all of it. I love you so much, Mirevas. I want to marry you. I can’t imagine anything that would make me happier.”

Her face didn’t change. “You’re serious,” she said.

Not the response he was hoping for. Blackwall’s blood ran cold, but he pushed on. “Yes. More serious than I’ve ever been in my life.”

And her expression melted. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she smiled, throwing her arms around his neck. “Yes. Yes, Blackwall, yes. I want to marry you, too.”

Yes. She’d said yes. A laugh of pure joy bubbled up from his chest, and his arms slid around her waist, holding her tight. “Thank you,” he sighed.

Mirevas kissed his ear, his cheek, and then his mouth, a deep, enthusiastic kiss. Blackwall savored the feel of her lips against him, the way she nipped and caressed his mouth with her own. This moment was perfect. His happiness overwhelmed him.

But he was forgetting the ring. “Wait,” he murmured against her lips. “Wait.”

She pulled back.

Blackwall untangled himself from her and stood, reaching over to grab his pants and slip the wallet from his pocket. He ignored her confused expression, sliding the ring from the wallet and palming it in his hand.

Then he turned back to face her.

This probably wasn’t right. He should have taken her out to a fancy restaurant or some romantic spot with a view. He felt silly, standing there naked in front of her, caught completely unprepared.

He gripped the ring harder. Not _completely_ unprepared. He had the ring. And the moment had been right. She wanted to spend her life with him. There was no other way to respond.

Mirevas watched him, her brow creased.

Blackwall kneeled and held out the ring.

Her mouth fell open.

“Mirevas Lavellan,” he said formally. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

Her grin nearly split her face in two. “Yes,” she said, “yes, Thom Rainier. Nothing would make me happier.”

His heart was so full it was almost painful as he slipped the ring onto her beautiful hand. She looked down at it, examining the small ruby set inside the silver rose. Her breath came out in a shuddering sigh. “Oh, Blackwall. It’s perfect.”

A thrill went through him. He’d _known_ it was the perfect ring for her.

Mirevas grabbed his arms and pulled him closer, claiming his lips again. And this time, he didn’t stop her. This time, he lost himself in her.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warning -- there are some minor details in this chapter taken from the Trespasser DLC.
> 
> I need to thank you all once again. I really have the best readers. Every hit, kudos, comment, like, and reblog means so much to me. I am very blessed to have all of you. Thank you for coming with me on this crazy ride.
> 
> Song: [Concordia by Krypteria](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mwUpS5aimZs)

Mirevas stood before her dads in her wedding dress, watching as Jeremy’s eyes started to leak. “Oh, sweetie, you look so beautiful,” he said.

Brian seemed to be blinking back tears as well. “Come on, now, Jeremy. Don’t blubber all over her.”

Mirevas was thankful for the waterproof makeup Josephine had used on her this morning, because she was starting to cry, too. “Oh, look what you’ve done,” she said anyway, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. “If my makeup is messed up before the ceremony even starts, it’s on your heads.”

“It’s just so soon,” Jeremy bemoaned.

“I’ve been engaged two years, Dad. And you _like_ Thom.”

“I do,” he sniffed, “but you’re so young, sweetie. Are you sure you don’t want to wait until you’re forty?”

“Leave her be, Jeremy,” Brian chided.

Mirevas just laughed and hugged Jeremy, reaching out with one arm to pull Brian into the embrace as well. “Oh, you two. I love you both so much.”

\----------

Thom thought it would take forever before Mirevas walked down the aisle. He stood at the altar, set up amidst the trees of the forest, and watched as bridesmaid after bridesmaid strolled down the path before her, taking their bloody sweet time. Dagna, then Josephine, then Leliana...

Sera poked him in the ribs. “Relax, Beardy. She’s coming.”

Thom gritted his teeth. “When you’ve been in my position, then you can tell me to relax.”

“Hehehehehehehehehehe! Not bloody likely!”

Finally, _finally_ , Mirevas’s cousin Sulevin reached the front. The music changed and the wedding march began. Everyone rose from their seats.

And Mirevas appeared.

She looked more beautiful than he’d ever seen before. Her dress was white with lots of intricate black embroidery, fitting tight on top and flaring out to a simple skirt. She wore her hair half up, with curls cascading around her shoulders. A black lace choker circled her neck, and she carried a bouquet of dark red roses. The heavy black eyeliner she wore emphasized the lines of her facial tattoos.

Her eyes met his, and she beamed with happiness.

Slowly, Thom became aware of his surroundings again. Mirevas’s dads stood on either side of her, each holding an arm. They began to walk towards him.

“Bleeding lucky, you are,” Sera whispered.

Truer words were never spoken. 

After what seemed like an eternity, Mirevas reached the front. She turned and kissed Jeremy, then Brian, both of whom were crying. They withdrew to their seats in the front row.

Mirevas turned to Thom, and he saw tears hovering on her lashes. And he found he was blinking back tears as well.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered.

He barely heard the words of the priest. He was too captivated by Mirevas, unable to tear his eyes away from her. She seemed to feel the same, because she didn’t break his gaze. A tear dropped from her lashes, and he reached up to brush it away with his thumb.

Their guests quietly awwed.

“Thom and Mirevas have prepared their own vows,” the priest said. “Mirevas, if you would.”

Mirevas smiled up at him through her tears, sending a thrill right to his heart. “Thom,” she began, “you have been my constant companion through these years. More than my lover. My best friend. The one I can rely on, day after day.” Her voice cracked. “I promise you my heart, my hand, my love, every day of my life.”

It still seemed impossible, even after all these years. Thom’s heart swelled, full of a joy so strong it was almost pain.

“And Thom?” said the priest.

He had to swallow twice before he could find his voice, and when he did, it was hoarse. “Sometimes,” he said, “I feel like my life began two and a half years ago, when I laid eyes on you for the first time. I’ve come so far in that time, and I could never have done it without your support. You looked at me and saw the person I could be, and with your help, I have become that person. I have found the kindest, most beautiful, most loving person in the world, and I thank God every day for bringing you into my life. Mirevas, my lady, there is nothing you could ask that I would not give you. You have my heart and soul, always and forever.”

Even the priest seemed choked up. “And the rings?”

Sera touched Thom’s arm, and without turning from Mirevas, he took the ring from her hand. It was a silver circle of twisted branches, specially made to match her rose engagement ring. She held out her hand, and he slipped the ring onto her finger.

“With this ring,” he choked out, “I tie my life to yours.”

Leliana handed a ring to Mirevas, a simple, thick band of silver. She slid it onto his finger. Her voice was little more than a whisper. “With this ring, I tie my life to yours.”

“By the power vested in me, I now proclaim you husband and wife. You may kiss.”

Mirevas all but jumped into Thom’s arms, pulling his head down to hers, claiming his mouth with a passion that was almost certainly inappropriate for an audience. But Thom was only barely aware of the crowd as it laughed and clapped. Mirevas was his. He was hers. They belonged with each other. And he was happier than he had ever been in his life.

\----------

The reception was beautiful. It was held in an outdoor pavilion in the forest, with dancing under the stars.

The only problem was all the damned guests.

Thom thought the reception line would never end. And then the pictures. They barely managed to grab a few bites of the overpriced meal they’d paid for before they were pulled away to cut the cake.

And then the father-daughter dances began. Thom knew it was irrational, but he couldn’t help being jealous of Jeremy and Brian for getting to hold her before he did. She looked beautiful on the dance floor, beaming up at first one dad and then the other. Jeremy bawled through his entire dance.

There would be no mother-son dance. Thom’s parents hadn’t been willing to make the trip out for the wedding. Still -- they were talking to him again, and that was more than he’d ever thought to hope for.

He wouldn’t think of them now. Not when Mirevas was spinning on the dance floor, looking for all the world like a beautiful tattooed goddess. Not when the most amazing woman in existence had pledged herself to love him for all time.

No, as he watched Mirevas dance with her fathers, his only thoughts were on how long he’d have to wait to have her in his arms again.

And then, finally, it was Thom’s turn. As the DJ started to play the ballad they’d first danced to, years ago at the Chargers’ concert, Mirevas approached him.

Thom bowed to her formally. “My lady.”

She took him by the hand and pulled him close. “My knight.”

He’d never get tired of hearing that. Still holding her hand, Thom led Mirevas out onto the dance floor and took her in his arms.

Mirevas sighed, stepping close to him, tilting her chin to look him in the eyes. “Considering it’s our wedding, I thought we’d have more time together.”

Thom tightened his grip on her waist. “I hope you know I don’t intend to let you go for the rest of the night.”

“Iron Bull’s boyfriend Dorian has been clamoring for a dance with me.”

“Tough,” Thom growled.

Mirevas laughed. “So I’m to spend the rest of the night with you?”

“If I have any say in it, yes.”

“That sounds just about perfect.”

“I thought you would agree,” Thom said, leaning down to kiss her.

\----------

They didn’t stay very long at the reception. Varric pulled around the Cadillac Thom had been restoring for the past two years, and Thom slid into the driver’s seat, Mirevas at his side. They waved at their guests, Mirevas blowing kisses, and then Thom put the car into drive, and they were off.

“Are you hungry?” Thom asked.

“Starving.”

They went to the McDonald’s drive-thru before heading back to their hotel, Mirevas doing her best not to get any salt from the french fries she was picking at on her beautiful dress. And so it happened that Thom had the McDonald’s bag in one hand as he carried a giggling Mirevas over the threshold.

“Are you happy?” he asked her.

“Deliriously.”

“And what does my deliriously happy wife want to do now?”

She inclined her head. “Well, first I’d like to hear you call me your wife again.”

“As my wife commands.”

“Then maybe you could put me down.”

“Do I have to?”

“Probably.”

Thom groaned, then carried her to the bed, where he laid her carefully on top of the plush comforter. She grabbed him by the tie that was hanging loose around his neck, pulling him down on top of her.

“The food,” Thom protested mildly, then dropped the bag, reaching for her, drawing her closer, pressing his lips to hers.

“Mmm.” Mirevas broke the kiss. “I just remembered. I’m still starving.”

Thom laughed.

They ate their burgers at the little hotel room table, talking and laughing about the events of the evening. Sera and Dagna had really hit it off. It seemed that the wedding had been crashed by a mysterious young man who had taken a shine to their DJ, a woman named Maryden. Cullen had spent the whole night dancing with Mirevas’s cousin, Sulevin; Josephine had brought her girlfriend, a young woman named Kiera Trevelyan; and Varric had chatted the night away with half the guests, telling the story of how Thom and Mirevas had met to anyone who didn’t know it.

When the food was done, Mirevas yawned. “I’m exhausted.”

Disappointment flooded Thom. “Of course you are. We should probably get to bed.”

Mirevas grinned at him, a mischievous sparkle in her eye. “Can you unzip my dress for me?”

She stood, turning her back to him, and he rose, pulling the zipper down. Mirevas let the dress drop to the floor, then stepped out of it, turning back to him with a teasing smile.

Thom’s breath caught. She was wearing the sexiest black lace teddy he’d ever seen, see-through and cut low in front, her breasts almost spilling from it.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “now that I think about it, there might be one more thing I want to do tonight.”

Thom chuckled. “Always the tease,” he said, stepping forward to lift her into his arms and carry her to the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mirevas’s wedding dress: http://192.198.87.62/bridalthing.com/images/_fullsize/g/gray-in-black-wedding-dresses-uk-wedding-dress_white-bridesmaid-dresses-cheap-white-bridesmaid-dresses-long.jpg
> 
> Mirevas’s ring: https://www.etsy.com/listing/207959149/silver-twig-ring-tree-branch-ring-silver
> 
> Mirevas’s necklace:  
> Because I’m a dork who wanted it to be exactly right, I designed and made it myself. You can see it here: http://cherieofthedragons.tumblr.com/post/129153101321/a-necklace-i-made-inspired-by-something-in-my-fic  
> And check out my etsy site here: http://www.etsy.com/shop/evilqueensmirror
> 
> Bridesmaid dresses:  
> https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/7c/1c/87/7c1c87522b8739a0bc4fef49544a114b.jpg
> 
> I need to thank you all once again. I really have the best readers. Every hit, kudos, comment, like, and reblog means so much to me. I am very blessed to have all of you. Thank you for coming with me on this crazy ride.
> 
> And a big thanks to my beta, Aphreal. I couldn’t have done it without her.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Kisses - Meriana x Teagan (Attorney AU)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4699610) by [chenria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chenria/pseuds/chenria)




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